Revenge
by Love Out Of Lust
Summary: Walker changes the course of Ste and Brendan's lives forever.
1. Chapter 1

_**Present Day - 2nd November 2014**_

He's held a gun before. Put his fingers on the trigger, felt the cold, black metal underneath his hands. He's heard a million and one cliches about it. The power you feel when you hold one, how the thrill of it goes right to your cock. How it makes you more of a man. These people, these same people who had talked about the rush of adrenaline, the tingle in your bones, the contraction of your muscles - they hadn't entirely been lying. He'd felt it when he'd pointed a gun for the first time at Warren Fox. That immediate shift of power, the way another man had been at his mercy.

He'd felt alive.

When he holds a gun this time he feels dead. He feels like he's floating on thin air, vulnerable to dropping at any moment, crashing to the ground in a chaotic, fractured heap, until there's nothing left but fragmented body parts. His vision is inexplicably blurry, and he doesn't know if it's tears that are masking his line of sight, or whether his pupils have been doused in fire and his eyes are crying for relief. That's what it feels like, like flames are licking at him, burning at his insides, blackening his skin. His mouth is parched dry and his lips feel cracked, failing to moisten no matter how many times he licks at them.

He runs through the darkening street and every stride he takes feels like an impossibility. It shocks him that he's still able to move at all. His body already feels like it's slowing, shutting down. Too tired and too old and too strained with grief to continue. And yet it must, and it does, improbably kicking down doors and gripping the gun like it's a lifeline. And in a way it is, because it's the only reason that he's still breathing. He doesn't care who sees him. The police can come and arrest him, cuffing him and leading him to his cell. They can tie a noose around his neck and he'll fall without fear. As long as he gets to finish this. As long as he takes Walker with him.

He imagines his face now, looming at him through the shadows. That light brown hair, long and slicked back. Those sharp incisors, giving him an almost vampire like quality. The toned and muscular body, so often hidden underneath one of his trademark jackets, zipped up to the neck. Those eyes, observant, everywhere all at once. That mouth, which turns in at the corners, smirking at you as if he knows a secret which no one else will ever have access to. And those hands, capable of the most terrible, brutal acts. All of these things which form a man who has taken away the only light Brendan has ever known.

No, he cannot think about _him_ now. He will drown if he thinks about him. The mere memory of him slows Brendan in his steps and causes him to take a long gulp of air, air which he can't afford because it only serves to remind him of the boy, the boy with blue eyes and dark long eyelashes and lips which were designed to provoke. Lips which sucked and licked and nibbled and kissed and loved and laughed and uttered three words which Brendan hated and adored in equal measure, such was their ability to tear him in two and give him the greatest happiness he's ever known. The boy was his oxygen, and every minute he breathes the air he's painfully reminded that the boy is not there to breathe it with him.

Passers by don't see the gun. The police will question them on this after. _How could you not see it? Was it the darkness? Was he running too fast? Were you not looking properly? _They'll struggle to explain that it was none of these things. They're not sure they could articulate how it was the expression on the man's face that held their full attention, which made them stop and stare after his retreating figure. They can't even explain it to themselves, what they saw. They only know that their hearts had caught in their throats at the look of the man. They had never witnessed such a look of pure devastation. Crippling devastation, to the extent that you almost had to look away, such was the expression of raw, unadulterated sadness. His face was twisted, every line appearing like a line of sorrow. Tears streaked his cheeks, but his eyes weren't sparkling from the onslaught of more. Instead they were rimmed in red, as if all the tears had been shed, and now there was only the aftershocks. His eyes blazed as if hiding a deep fury beneath the surface, a fury which was almost feral in its appearance. Even if they had seen the gun, they doubted that it would have scared them more than the man holding it.

If they had looked closer, they would have seen the barest hint of silver covering his chest, lying over his heart. A cross, which the man had had since he was a young boy. A necklace that was as much a part of him as the large dark moustache which marked him out as instantly distinctive. What they may not have seen was the thin yet solid gold band that lies across the necklace's chain, settling next to the cross. It remains out of reach through force of habit, not out of shame or fear, but out of a desire to keep a part of the boy close to him. Two sets of initials are carved round the middle.

_BB_ and _SH. _

It shines as bright and as clear as ever. With his free hand the man reaches out and smooths his finger over them as he runs, a constant reminder of what he has lost, what he had loved.

He kicks down the last door that he has to try, the door that he senses is hiding his prize. He isn't wrong. He's reached the end.

As Brendan Brady stares into the observant, all seeing eyes of Simon Walker, raising the gun to point at his head, one bullet for him, one for himself, he can almost feel the arms of Steven around him, welcoming him home.

_**6th January, 2013.**_

Christmas and New Year have come and gone. No more decorations, no more events at the club. No more presents to buy or spending time worrying about burning the turkey or not making enough gravy. There seems to be nothing to concentrate on, and all that's left on their minds is the one person they're trying to avoid thinking of.

Lynsey.

Declan, Paddy and Eileen had spent their first Christmas in Hollyoaks. Brendan had been surprised that Eileen had agreed to it, especially as he'd made it clear that Michael, her partner, didn't attend under any circumstances. He didn't think he could face being given daggers across the dinner table and probing questions about his own love life. Or lack thereof. If Eileen didn't want her boyfriend's face ending up in the brandy pudding, then she'd have to keep him away. He could tell she resented him for it. Or perhaps it wasn't that. Perhaps it was everything. Cheating on her, moving to a whole new city, leaving the boys, being caught with Ste, her realising that he had spent years lying to her, sleeping with her own nephew. He couldn't blame her for being angry, but he wished she'd understand that she was better off. She didn't have to contend with once a month visits to Declan and Paddy. She shared a bed with the person she wanted to. She hadn't had to see Brendan with someone else every single day, always knowing what she'd lost. It struck him that maybe she was the lucky one in all this, that she'd escaped.

Brendan wondered whether Declan returning to the flat brought back the memories of what had happened the last time he was there. When he'd been helping Brendan to wash up in the kitchen, there was silence between them. It wasn't lost on Brendan that this was the exact spot where their argument had taken place. Where Brendan had told him that he didn't want him to be there, and had sent him home. He remembered the events of that day, and what had followed afterwards. Finding out that Steven had been behind it. Going over to his flat, feeling like he was having an out of body experience, not truly knowing his own mind. Confronting him. And then...and then leaving the flat. Feeling like he couldn't go back there. And not just that night.

He didn't understand how Declan could stand to look at him. Paddy was younger. He hadn't seen Brendan at his worst. But Declan knew about a side of himself that he had never wanted him to see.

"Dad..."

Brendan's hands had stilled around the plate he was about to put away.

"Mmm?"

"I wish I'd got to know her more."

"Who?"

"Lynsey."

Hearing her name hurt him more than he'd anticipated.

"I know I spent a lot of time around her when I was here, but...it wasn't really enough. I wish I'd been there for her."

"You're a kid, Declan. You didn't have to look after her. She looked after you. She wanted to."

"Being with her at the funeral was probably the most time I've ever spent with her. How wrong is that?"

"Hey, hey. Shhhh." Brendan put the plate down and drew Declan into his arms. He wished he could shield him from all of this. Life.

"Listen to me. You didn't know you would lose her. None of us did. We all argue and go weeks without seeing people we care about. And it doesn't mean that you don't love someone, or that they're not in your head. You can't blame yourself for any of this, Declan."

If someone is to blame, it's him. He told Cheryl and Joel that he couldn't go to Lynsey's funeral because he couldn't face it. A half truth, as it were. He didn't mention the fact that he couldn't face it because he felt like he'd been the one to kill her.

He needs to see her. He knows he's put it off for long enough. The idea of being there with Cheryl and Lynsey's family had been too impossible. Cheryl had told him that Peter had been there too, and he and Brendan hadn't exactly parted on a good note. Brendan would have rather been surrounded by a million strangers than a dozen close friends and family. He knew he'd have had to be strong for them, even though he'd have felt anything but.

It's better if he goes alone. Then he doesn't have to pretend.

* * *

"Brendan!"

He turns, hearing that familiar voice which he'll never not be able to answer to.

Steven's in his apron, having run out of the deli. He has flour smeared around his face, the result of slicing the bread open and rubbing his face afterwards. It strangely suits him.

"How are you?" His voice is low, concerned. He sounds like he actually cares. It's been months since Lynsey's death, but somehow Steven seems to realise that there's not a set time in which it all gets better.

"I'm..."

He's not okay. He's sick of saying he is.

"I'm surviving. Like always."

There's no pity on Steven's face. No sense that he needs Brendan to support him, that he's breakable in all of this too. There's only a look of complete understanding.

"I'm sorry to spring this on you. I know you're probably busy, but the hot water's been a bit dodgy at the flat. I was wondering if you could sort it out, maybe sometime over the next few days?"

Ordinarily, an excuse to go round to Steven's home and spend some time with him would be something he'd jump at. If he's honest, the reason he decided to go into the property business wasn't for the money, or the connections. It was all an attempt to keep the boy in his life, of having a reason to see him.

He doesn't want to turn him down. But he has to.

"I'm sorry, Steven. I can't. I'm going to Ireland."

"Oh." Steven looks taken aback. Disappointment flashes across his face before he quickly masks it.

"For how long?"

"Just a couple of days."

"Oh. Right." He stares around uncomfortably. "Are you seeing the boys, or...Macca?" He speaks the last word in a rush, as if hoping Brendan won't hear it.

"Macca? Why would I be seeing him?"

The last contact they had was when he told Macca to leave after seeing him kissing Steven. He had needed him far away, where he couldn't get to either of them. He's never had any intention of seeing him or speaking to him again, and Macca never tried to get in touch. He was the last person that Eileen was ever likely to bring up.

"I don't know, I just thought..." He hesitates, looking like he thinks he's already said too much.

"I'm not there to see Macca, Steven. Or the boys. I'm going to visit Lynsey."

Again, that look of understanding. Brendan wonders whether Steven's visited Rae's grave since the funeral, and that's why none of this fazes him.

"Right, well I hope you're okay. Not that you can ever really be okay doing something like that. But I hope..."

"I know what you mean."

Because he does. He hopes that Brendan comes back in one piece, that this strange peace that's settled between them over the past five months doesn't dissolve.

"Give me a minute, and I'll go to the cash machine for you."

"The cash machine?"

"For money to hire someone about the water."

"No, don't be silly. It'll be fine. You've got other things to worry about."

"Steven, I'm not going to let you and your kids freeze."

"Really, we'll be okay. You can come over when you get back." He pauses, then looks at him speculatively.

"You will be coming back, won't you?"

"Of course."

Ireland isn't his home anymore. It hasn't been for a long time. Not since this boy walked into his life and changed everything.

Steven stares at him, then nods, seemingly satisfied, believing him.

"I should go and start packing."

He doesn't want some drawn out, long goodbye. He can't face the idea that when he returns, Steven may have changed his mind. Changed his mind about him again, and decided that he's not worth his time, that he's not worth anything.

If he doesn't say goodbye, then he can fool himself that he doesn't care.

"See you, Steven."

He starts towards the steps leading up to the flat. He can feel Steven's eyes on the back of his head, burning into his skull.

"Brendan!"

The voice which calls him back again and again. He's lost count of the number of times he's tried to be immune to it, before the sway of it pulls him under again. The resistance only makes giving in that much sweeter, and that much harder to try to give up again.

He turns, and Steven looks almost surprised by his own vocalness. Brendan wonders if he wishes he would have let him keep walking.

"You should get back to work. Douglas will be wondering where you are."

"Maybe I don't care."

Such a brave boy. Fearless. Still not giving up on him, after all this time.

Or is he just wanting to believe that?

"What is it, Steven?"

He licks his lips, screwing up the bottom of his apron in his hands, entangling it with his fingers until it's twisted.

"I want to come with you."

_**6th May, 2013**_

"Hi."

Brendan immediately knows something's wrong. It's something about Steven's voice. It sounds different, strained. It comes out as a mere high pitched squeak, instead of spoken in that relaxed, upbeat manner of his, syllables drawn out by his Manchester accent.

Going to the kitchen where Steven's facing the stove, stirring tonights dinner - which smells fucking amazing, Brendan's glad and unsurprised to note - he slinks his arms around Steven's waist. He feels the boy tense around him. Brendan strokes his arm.

"I can't stir properly with you distracting me," he says, and there's no hint of playfulness in his tone.

Steven, turning down a chance to be touched? Impossible, unless he's in a sulk. Brendan tries to think what he possibly could have done wrong. Is he late? No. In fact, he's fifteen minutes early, having made his excuses to Walker and bailing. Did he leave things on a sour note when he left? No. He had explained to Steven that he had to go in on his day off for a few hours, to sort out a problem with the stock. The last he'd seen of the boy, he was smiling across at him with those bedroom eyes that he's perfected so well, telling him to come back as soon as he could, because it was urgent. _Very urgent._

Was he meant to have called? Perhaps that was it. An unspoken agreement that he'd broken. He'd thought the text had been enough.

_I'll be back soon. I hope you're keeping the bed warm for me._

He'd added a kiss, then erased it. Then added it. Then erased, until he'd gone back and forth so many times that his thumb had begun to hurt. In the end, he'd settled for leaving it as it was, sans kiss. There was only so much sentimentality he could take.

Now he wishes he hadn't deleted it.

"How was your day?"

"Fine. Good." Spoken in a monotone now.

Brendan really doesn't need another ambiguous conversation in code right now. He has Walker for that. He loves how honest Steven is, how open. How he gives himself completely to the people he cares about.

Trying another tact, Brendan begins peppering him with small kisses on the back of his neck, stopping to inhale Steven's scent, a combination of aftershave and sweetness. He can feel the boy melt into his embrace, his body slackening, a small sigh escaping from his lips. Not for the first time, Brendan strongly thinks that dinner can wait.

He tries to bring Steven round to face him, but he instantly becomes stiff, denying him the opportunity.

"Okay, I give up. What's wrong?"

"Nothing." The boy's voice is barely audible.

"Well I've obviously done something. You won't even look at me."

"It's not...it's not your fault."

"What, it's not you, it's me? Come on, Steven."

"Look, I'm really tired. I'm just going to go to bed. Help yourself to food, yeah?" He tries to wriggle out of Brendan's grasp, but he holds him there, firm.

"Tell me," he murmurs, fear rising to his throat. Alarm bells are sounding in his head. Something's wrong. Something's very wrong.

"Okay, but you have to promise not to go mad."

Brendan swallows, wondering what could possibly be coming.

"I promise." He's not lying. He won't get angry if this is the end, the end of them. He'll experience an emotion far more terrifying than anger.

Slowly, Steven turns around, and their faces are so close that they are almost nose to nose, eye to eye, mouth to mouth. This close, Brendan can practically count every one of his long, thick, sooty eyelashes.

He can also see the bruise which covers Steven's eye, fresh that day, still in the process of fully forming.

"What the fuck happened?"

"You promised you wouldn't get mad!"

"That was before I saw that fucking bruise on your face!"

"It's really not a big deal. It looks worse than it is."

Brendan's fingers trace the wound, and they're so gentle and soft that it's like he's trying to take the pain away.

"When did this happen?"

"Earlier today."

When Brendan wasn't around to protect him. That stupid stock check. As if that means anything compared to this.

"Who the fuck did this to you, Steven?"

"No one -"

"Oh, really? So an invisible hand just reached out of its own accord and decided to imprint you with the colour purple? Or are you going to use the classic, that you banged into a door?"

"Don't start getting all sarky with me!"

"Then don't think I'm about to drop this. I can go on all night if I have to."

"It's over now. Why does it matter?"

Brendan would laugh if he didn't feel so furious.

_Why does it matter?_ Is Steven really asking him that? Did he honestly think that Brendan would drop it aside, pretend that someone hadn't laid a finger on his boy? That he would let someone get away with that? His fists clench involuntarily, his tendons standing on end. He'll find them, whoever they are.

"It matters because..."

_Because I love you. Because the thought of you being hurt is the worst kind of pain imaginable. Because I am more than aware that I was the one who made you suffer, that for so long the only person who hurt you was me. And it still kills me, even after all this time of not raising a hand to you. I will spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you, and I will make sure that anyone who ever wounds you will pay. _

"...Because I have to know, Steven. What would you do if I came home looking like that, eh? Would you not ask questions?"

Steven chews on his lip, considering Brendan's words. His face is creased in worry, almost like he's imagining that very prospect - Brendan being hurt, and him being left in the dark.

"It was Joel."

"Joel?" He's surprised. He knows the two don't get on, to put it mildly, but he had thought that Joel's unwavering loyalty to him would have made him realise that Steven is strictly off limits.

"Why?"

"Usual reasons. Daddy Brendan's not spending enough time with him, apparently." He rolls his eyes, not bothering to hide his distaste.

"Then he found out that me and Theresa used to date."

"How did he find out?"

"I sort of...told him," Steven admits sheepishly. "According to him, he has nothing of his own that I haven't had first. Like I'm even interested in Theresa! Unless she grows a tache and develops in a certain area, I think he's safe."

"And Joel hit you - for that?" He knows the boy has a temper on him, much like his dad, but he's not completely reckless.

"I may also have said some stuff about...Warren."

"Steven!"

"I'm sorry, but Joel pointed a gun at you until you talked him round! Warren could have killed you if he'd led you to him."

"That was a long time ago."

"Well, some of us haven't forgotten. Besides, he's always hanging around."

"He works at the club. He runs the place with me."

"Hmmmm," Steven says, his lips sticking out in annoyance.

"Jealous, are we?" Brendan can't help but feel secretly pleased. He's glad he's not the only one who doesn't like having to share.

"No," Steven replies stubbornly. "I just...he looks like me, doesn't he?"

"What?" Brendan laughs.

"Don't say you haven't noticed!"

"So he's young and has brown hair. He's hardly your twin."

"So you don't like...fancy him, do you?"

Brendan cocks an eyebrow. "Fancy him? _Joel?_ Steven, don't make me laugh. He's just a kid."

"He's nineteen! Not that much younger than I was when we got together."

"He's not even gay!"

"Oh, so that's the only thing that's stopping you, is it?"

Brendan rubs his temple, incensed. _Joel? Scottish Foxy? Really? _Yes, maybe in layman's terms he's his type. Young, skinny, eager to please. But Brendan thinks of him as a rather endearing annoyance, like a breed of puppy who follows you everywhere with pleading eyes. He'd only flirted with him initially to piss off Warren which, he'd noted at the time with pleasure, had more than worked.

"Steven, I don't have time for this. Excuse me."

He heads towards the door. Steven runs in front of him, blocking his path.

"Wait! Where are you going?"

"I'm going to talk to him."

"Talk meaning punch?"

"Talk meaning...iron things out."

Steven scoffs. "Am I meant to be believing this?"

"Such little faith," he says, pretending to be outraged.

"Stay here. I've made carbonara, one of your favourites."

Brendan sniffs appreciatively in the air. It does smell amazing.

"With extra sauce?"

Steven nods, and captures Brendan's lips with his own.

With his eyes closed, it's easier to forget that Steven has been hurt. But throughout dinner, it is a constant drip in his mind, like poison. Drip drip drip. Black eye black eye black eye. He can barely meet Steven's gaze, because doing so makes him want to run from the house and find Joel.

When they go to bed that night, he makes sure their mouths are never apart, so he can ignore the bruise. But as Steven dozes in his arms afterwards, he can't stop focusing on it. It hasn't affected his beauty. His skin still remains as flawless as ever, but Brendan can't erase the image of Joel's fist connecting with his face, inflicting pain there.

He rolls over and checks his alarm clock. Two am. The club will still be open. Brendan creeps out of bed. Steven's a deep sleeper, but he often has the uncanny ability to sense when something's amiss. He'll fidget in bed, waking up in a panic. Brendan knows he'll be furious with him if he finds out what he's about to do, but decides that it's worth the risk.

Quickly throwing some clothes on, he unlocks the front door and makes his way across the village.

They're finishing up for the night, Rhys locking up the cash register, Mitzeee wiping off some vomit from some drunken student which didn't quite miss her shoes. Brendan waits till they're all gone, telling them that he'll lock up. He's not sure where Walker is, but guesses that he must have left with the crowd.

He finds Joel sorting through the safe in the office, deep in concentration. Even after owning the club for a year, he's still so desperate to impress, to not get anything wrong. Brendan steps into the room and closes the door behind him. Joel jumps.

"Brendan! What are you doing, sneaking up on me like that?"

Brendan simply stares at him.

"I thought today was your day off, anyway?"

Brendan steps closer.

"I had a special call to make."

Joel looks confused. He's not used to seeing Brendan like this these days. On edge. Speaking in riddles. Not since he found Steven walking out from Brendan's bedroom at 9 o'clock in the morning one day, a pair of pajamas covering his modesty, a silent announcement that they were definitely not just friends. Since then, Brendan had been almost...calm.

"What special call? What are you on about?"

"What did I tell you about Steven, Joel?"

Brendan can see the lad's mind kick into place, like a series of dots connecting. He gets it now.

"Ste?" Still trying to play dumb, then. Unwise move, kid. Did he really think Brendan wouldn't find out? What did he think would happen, when he came home and saw the bruise?

"What did I tell you about him?" he repeats. "About touching him?"

Joel looks nauseous. "Not to."

Brendan nods manically, smoothing down Joel's t-shirt. His hands twitch.

"And what did you do?"

"Touch him. But Brendan -"

Brendan slams him up against the wall, his hands markedly close to Joel's windpipe.

"But what? But you thought you could hurt him and I'd watch it happen?"

"No, I -"

"Remember what I said to you the last time you hurt him, Joel. Tell me."

He shakes him when he remains silent. "TELL ME."

"That you'd kill me if I laid a finger on him."

"And yet you didn't listen to me, did you?"

Joel looks genuinely terrified, his eyes darting continuously to the door and around the office, as if searching for an escape route, or some kind of weapon with which to fight back. He seems to realise it's futile, his face defeated.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

"Sorry?" Brendan laughs as if it's hilariously funny. "He's got a fucking black eye."

"He said stuff about my dad. About how I'm just like him, and one of these days you're going to realise it."

"Maybe he was right."

A look of deep hurt crosses Joel's face. "Do you really think that?"

"Warren liked messing with Steven too, you know. Just because he could."

"That's not why...look, I'm sorry. I know I broke the rules. But things haven't been the same since you got with him. You moving out, and him being attached to your hip the whole time..."

"Strange, he says the same thing about you."

Joel shakes his head furiously.

"You know, you and Steven aren't so different."

He stares at him, horrified.

"We're nothing alike!"

"Really? I would list on my hands how many similarities you have, but I'd run out of fingers."

"Are you trying to insult me?"

Brendan's grip on Joel tightens.

"Alright, alright! I'm sorry! Just let me go."

"Why should I?" Brendan snarls.

"Because I don't think your boyfriend would be too happy knowing you've beaten the living daylights out of me, or whatever it is you came here to do."

Brendan stills at that. He imagines Steven at home in bed right now, his hand cupping the empty pillow next to him. He imagines him finding out what he's done to Joel, and looking at him with disappointment and disgust. Not understanding that Brendan would never beat him again, but that he has a need to defend him from those who do. All that trust they've built up, knocked back down.

"You can't ever do this again," Brendan whispers, and Joel nods his consent. Releasing him, Brendan tries to keep his movements under control, to stop the frantic energy which is pouring out of him.

Going back into the fresh air, he finally feels a sense of peace again. He has walked away. Perhaps Steven would be proud of him if he knew. That's the problem, though. He can never know.

The house is still dark when he enters it. Steven is as he left him, curled up in a ball, looking angelic. Brendan slips into bed as softly as he can. He can't quite believe what he did tonight. That he backed down. Strange, how he wants to hurt others for Steven, and wants to protect them for him too.

Leaning forward, Brendan lightly kisses just under Steven's eye where the bruise lies, and begins to fall asleep.

_**21st September, 2014.**_

He drops a hand forward, his movements lazy in his sleepy haze. He feels around in the bed, trying to feel the boy next to him. He doesn't know why he does it. He should trust after all this time that he's sleeping softly beside him, his chest rising and falling, in that way that reminds Brendan of a kitten, curled around itself for warmth. Perhaps it's a subconscious act, his need to make sure that Steven is still with him. That they sleep in the same bed, that they share the same life. That he hasn't left him.

When he feels the empty gap, he rubs his eyes tiredly and peers through his eyelids. The room is dark, not quite pitch black, but he can only see outlines of things - his wardrobe, his side table, the door. He leans over and switches on the lamp.

Steven's standing beside the bed. Brendan has interrupted him in the middle of putting on a t-shirt. It's in his hands, plain white, not yet covering his nipples, which are pert through the breeze that envelopes the room. It's not particularly cold outside. Brendan has slept naked as is his typical practice, but he knows that the boy gets cold easily.

"Come back to bed," he says, and he gets that strange sense of deja vu, like he's said these words a thousand times before. That it's a cycle he's doomed to repeat. If it is, then he'd happily stay doomed for the rest of his existence.

Steven grins wolfishly at him, and he jumps into bed beside him. He snuggles under the crook of Brendan's elbow, and Brendan pulls the covers up over him, tucking him in. Steven intertwines his body with his, running his feet over Brendan's lithe, hairy legs slowly, causing goosebumps to rise there, and the hairs to stand on end.

"Better?"

"Yeah. Ta."

The boy reaches down and trails his hand across Brendan's stomach. Brendan leans into the touch, closing his eyes against the intimacy of it. Steven continues in his gentle exploration, tickling the hairs that surround Brendan's cock. Then he reaches what his hands and mouth and arse are after, which has the ability of fitting around Steven like a glove. He sits up in the bed and straddles Brendan, grinning as he regards the man's face, which is the picture of ecstasy. His lips are parted the slightest amount, a small smile gracing his mouth, his eyes fighting between returning Steven's scorching gaze, and fluttering shut from the overwhelming feeling. Steven's hand grips Brendan's cock in his palm, but he doesn't move a muscle. A guttural sound comes out of Brendan's throat. His pride tells him not to beg, that the boy has another thing coming if he thinks he'll play these games. But his instinct, something right at the heart of him, which is screaming with desire and need, tells him to urge Steven's hand on. Even Brendan isn't entirely sure which one will win out, until he says those words.

"Steven, please..." He tries to shift forward to force the boy's hand to move, to gain some form of friction. But Steven remains stubbornly still, biting his lip and staring in enjoyment at Brendan's obvious arousal.

It took a long time to get to the point where Brendan could ask for what he wanted. He barely needed to in the beginning, not when Steven's sole mission in life seemed to be to make him as satisfied as possible. But when they officially got together, no more manipulation, no more violence, no more lies, Steven realised that he didn't have to be afraid of anything anymore. He'd always been a cocky little chancer - Brendan had known that since the start. But he seemed to transform overnight. His stares became more provocative, his movements more affected, the words he whispered in Brendan's ear when they were alone no longer making him blush, but inducing a tenting in his own trousers which he wore with pride.

And then the teasing started. He'd be rimming Brendan senseless, and he'd stop his darting movements for what felt like a torturous amount of time. Or he'd be riding Brendan, and would still his hips, his legs surprisingly strong in holding Brendan in place, so he found it difficult to get any leverage. Or he'd have his lips around Brendan's cock, those sinful lips, and unexpectedly drop him from his mouth, leaning back on his knees. Brendan would stare down at him from where he rested against the wall, feeling like he was going to cry out if Steven didn't immediately recreate that warm, tight vacuum around him.

The boy would give him that look, both infuriating and delicious, a challenge in his eyes.

"Tell me you want it, then."

Playing Brendan at his own game. He'd met his match in this one, that was for sure. Brendan, confused and exasperated the first time, had tried to anchor Steven's face towards his own, attempting by coaxing and a light dose of sexual persuasion to get his way.

But it hadn't worked. He's found that the boy relishes hearing those words that Brendan had denied him for so long. Whether in the form of "I love you" or "I want you" or "Fuck me, Steven", they returned him to Brendan in full force, the boy licking, pumping and sucking like he was in a frenzy.

Lying in bed now, Steven's hand immobile on Brendan's cock, Brendan tuts. He really shouldn't allow the boy to be so bossy, but he finds that these days, he is almost powerless to stop him. Playing this game of cat and mouse only seems to make him want Steven more. He's fixated with the pout of his lips, the mock outraged cross of his ams, his raised eyebrow, the way he pushes Brendan and takes him out of his comfort zone, like no one else ever has.

Raising his lips to Steven's neck, Brendan sucks on the skin there. There will be marks there tomorrow, imprints of his teeth, the area around the skin puckered and red. But neither man cares. No scarves or high necked jumpers or shirts will hide the signs of sex. They will wear them without apology or explanation.

Nibbling at Steven's jaw, Brendan whispers those three words, words which fall from his lips like a vow, words which Brendan first spoke three years ago. Words which kept the boy from walking out on him, which led to them fucking on the carpet, Brendan giving him a blow job up against the wall. Words which used to terrify him, but now give him a quiet kind of strength. Steven's hands run over Brendan's chest, ghosting over the hairs there. He shivers, and he's not sure whether it is from the touch of Brendan's defined muscles under his fingertips, or hearing those words uttered from his mouth so emphatically and honesty.

Steven wonders whether those words will ever lose their magic, and he hopes this continues forever so he can find out.

_**24th September 2014**_

It's a slow Wednesday night. Takings have been down lately, always inevitable in the winter, when going out in a minidress and bare legs feels akin to dipping your body in ice cold water. The only people at Chez Chez are the brave, the stupid, or a certain boyfriend of Brendan's, who doesn't let the temperature stop him from bounding up the stairs and staring around the floor, searching. He's wearing his standard Carter and Hay uniform - cream chinos, with a blue shirt. He used to go home and change before he visited Brendan, until the man told him not to bother, that it was wasting time. Steven secretly suspects that Brendan has a thing for his 'formal' look.

He sees Cheryl at the bar, and leans over to give her a quick kiss.

"He's in the office," she says by way of explanation. Often Steven and Cheryl will find a corner to sit in and chat when it's quiet, a beer and a white wine in hand, but she's leant by now that he likes to say hello to Brendan first. Their 'hellos' usually extend to an ample half hour in the office or the toilets, Brendan using his keys to lock the latter so they are not disturbed. She's scolded him for this.

"What kind of reputation do you want us to have, Bren? A club where you can't even use the bathroom!"

He tends to give her his best innocent expression, pretending that he has no idea what she's talking about.

Doing his customary knock on the office door - two sharp raps and then a pause before the third - Steven enters. Brendan's sitting behind his desk, Walker facing him in the opposite chair. They have some paperwork out, the latest accounts figures, and the desk isn't visible beneath it, every inch covered. Although this isn't Walker's responsibility, Brendan soon discovered in prison that he had a good business head on him, and more logic than most.

"Steven," Brendan says, standing up from his seat. "I didn't think you'd be here for another hour."

"I got away early, so..." Steven looks between the men, wondering if he's intruded on something.

Steven and Walker being in the same room together makes Brendan feel...uncomfortable. He can't put his finger on why exactly. It's not as though anything ever happens when they cross paths. They usually both say a quick hello, make some small talk about the club, and go their separate ways. Perhaps it's the idea of mixing business with pleasure that Brendan hates so much, although he had no problem doing so with Walker, or Steven himself.

Brendan's never told Steven about the time he and Walker slept together in the office. It had happened after Steven had given him a letter, revealing all about the scam that he had pulled, and that he had chosen Douglas over him. Brendan had suddenly looked around and seen a world that he no longer recognised, where Steven couldn't be won back by sentimental words or promises to change. For perhaps the first time, Steven had felt truly lost to him.

Walker had been there. It had been something they'd never spoken about again, and Steven finding out is the last thing he needs. The boy has never been able to hide his jealousy over Macca, Vincent, Peter or Sean. Brendan could argue all he liked that his situation was similar, as he's still working side by side with Douglas, but he knows that Steven wouldn't see it that way.

What worries him more however, is the way that Walker acts towards Steven. It could easily be missed by an outsider if they didn't look closely. But Brendan trains his eyes on them during their encounters, and sees the effect that Steven has on his employee. Walker's voice would lower, as if he was communicating some secret. He'd barely blink when looking into Steven's eyes, and if he was talking to someone - usually a nameless woman who Walker had managed to ensnare - he'd leave them mid conversation, coming over to speak to Steven instead. All of these little things on their own are inconsequential, but when he puts them all together, Brendan can't get rid of the uneasy feeling he feels in the pit of his stomach.

"Is this a bad time, or...?"

"No," Brendan says, and he stands up, offering Steven his chair. Steven brushes up against his arm as he moves past him. They have a strict no touching policy when in front of certain company. The cheeky git always manages to break it somehow.

"Walker, would you mind getting Steven a drink? Your usual?" he asks, and Steven smiles.

He turns to Walker. "A -"

"I know, don't worry." Walker disappears through the door.

Brendan's sure that he'll make a mistake, that he'll get the wrong drink. But less than five minutes later, he's back clutching Steven's favourite bottle of beer.

"Thanks," Steven says, surprised.

Brendan doesn't understand. Walker has never drunk with him and Steven before, and Brendan and Steven usually stay in the office, alone. How would he know a thing like that?

Walker hands Brendan a cocktail, a sparkly umbrella in tow. He's holding a red wine for himself. The colour is so dark it looks like blood.

Brendan had hoped that asking Walker to get him a drink had signified an end to their meeting, but Walker doesn't seem to have got the message. He sits comfortably against the side of the desk, in between them both.

"Wait!" He says, as Steven is about to take a sip. Brendan is already thinking of the fastest way in which he can split up the two men.

"Lets make a toast."

"To what?"

"To...the future. Our future."

They say it in unison, and their glasses chime.

_**Present Day**_

_These violent delights have violent ends _

_And in their triumph die, like fire and powder, _

_Which as they kiss consume._

A gun shot is fired.


	2. Chapter 2 Walker

_**Present day - 2nd November 2014**_

He can hear the footsteps coming closer. The crashing of doors, the way the fury and violence of the man makes the lights on the ceiling shudder and shake. He will be here soon, and the game will nearly be over. The game they've been playing since the moment they met, whether the man realises it or not.

Lesson number one: Never trust anyone. Trust is a weakness, and must be stamped out immediately.

Lesson number two: Your friends are never really your friends. Everyone has an ulterior motive.

And lesson number three, the most important one of all: To destroy the person, you must destroy what they love.

_**26th October 2011**_

There's a new guy on the block. Brady. Close to his own age. Smaller in build, although Walker's seen him in the gym every day this week. It's not uncommon for weedy little boys to try to build themselves up. Part protection, part boredom. He can't work out which one is Brady's incentive. He's not a boy, and he doesn't look like he needs protecting, not from anyone or anything. There's something about him that makes Walker stop and watch him in the lunch line. Makes him slow down when Brendan approaches, and look at him from the corner of his eyes. He has been convicted of killing girls. News like that spreads fast in a place like this, and there are a certain group of prisoners who are baying for Brady's blood. _Fucking sick. Murderer. You like strangling girls, do you? _All day long, these taunts. The selection of women as his victims has made him stand out from the crowd. He is notorious.

He keeps to himself the first few weeks. He is all bravado, his head held high, meeting everyones gaze, not rising to the constant jibes made against him. He puts on a good act, but that's all it is - all for show. The man is terrified inside. It's not a feeling Walker has experienced, not since the time he rarely thinks about now, when he was a kid. But he's seen it on the faces of countless men, scared witless by the system, by the locked doors and patrolling officers, by the other men. And by their own thoughts, the most dangerous thing of all.

Walker watches him at visiting hour. He observes the way Brady paces up and down before being let into the room. His hands flex, and he chews subconsciously on his lip, a frown creasing his forehead. The men around him are excited, in anticipation to meet their wives, their girlfriends, their drug dealers. Every week Brady is an uncontrolled mess of fidgeting body movements and anxiety. He seems to be forever waiting for something that never appears, and leaves the room at the end of the hour with defeat and disappointment in his eyes. It makes Walker exhausted just looking at him. He keeps his distance in the room, watching from afar. As he greets his own visitor, a guy who he's done countless deals with, who's as dim as a used lightbulb, he glances over his shoulder, registering Brendan's activities.

The visitor is usually the same. A blonde woman, tall in height, solid in frame, in her twenties from the looks of it. Pretty. Feminine, which is always a welcome sight in this place. Walker's first thought is girlfriend.

Soon, he's not so sure. Brendan never makes any attempt to kiss her, unlike the other men who have to practically have their tongues dislodged from their respective others by the officers. Walker primes the other men for information, to find out if they've heard anything. Nothing is feed back out of the ordinary, and Walker is sure they wouldn't lie. Not only because they'd have no reason to, but because he runs a tightly ordered ship in their block. He has gained respect during his time there. He has defined himself as a quiet survivor. Someone not to be messed with, at any cost.

He watches as Brady continues getting beat down, night after night. There are a group of them who seem to have come from nowhere. Hired by someone from the outside - Walker is sure of it. He knows how these things work. He imagines a guy like Brendan has a lot of enemies. He is not concerned with fitting in, with playing by the rules. Walker's entire life is based around pretending to live by a code whilst breaking it. He's a world class actor, if you will. Brendan's ability to care is his undoing. It's written all over his face, how he loves, too much, too vast. Walker can't understand it. It is disgusting to him, abominable. He had thought for a moment that Brady was like him, but soon realised that the man is weak. Pathetic. Carrying love with him wherever he goes, as if it is some precious gift.

He can hear him at night, when Brendan is asleep. A few weeks into his sentence, he is battered and bruised, his face swollen and almost unrecognisable. Different from the man who came in, all swagger and pretense, so confident that he'd be found innocent. Curled up in bed as soon as the doors are locked, whilst the other men play on their games consoles or watch television, he lies on his back, head against the pillow, screwing his eyes shut as if he wants to erase his very existence.

Walker checks in on him from time to time, peering through the small shutter when the officers aren't looking. At first it is silent, and the near sound proof nature of the door makes it difficult to hear any noise. At first there is just light stirring, Brendan struggling into different positions in the bed, seemingly unable to get comfortable. Then the movements increase and become almost violent in their ferocity. Then the screaming starts.

One single world, torn out from Brendan's nightmares again and again, a haunting echo which only stops when an officer bangs on his door, waking him in his sweating, pale state.

A single word which is never uttered again, as if Brendan's own psyche refuses to reveal it, even in his sleep.

A word which Walker hears loud and clear through the door, and stays etched on his mind thereafter.

_Steven._

_**20th January, 2013.**_

They are surprisingly easy to follow. Walker marvels at Brendan's sheer idiocity, his complete disregard for danger. Doesn't he realise that someone could be watching? Witnessing every coy look, every lingering touch, every meeting down an alleyway? He watches them circle around each other for weeks, months, doing this strange dance that neither of them can avoid. They are pathetic, giving into what they want like that. Every time they say goodbye, Walker can see the sadness etched on Brendan's face, the frustration on Ste's. He can feel it building up. Do or die time. It seems final now, no going back. They will either be together or they won't. He idly wonders who will finally be the one to act, to _do something._

* * *

He is working at the club, with Brendan handing him the stock to put behind the bar. Brendan's wearing a white shirt today, and his chest is straining underneath the confines of the buttons. It must have been a purchase before prison, before he built the hard, sculptured muscle that now shields him. The shirt is undone enough so that it reveals a trail of dark chest hair, and the cross that is as much a part of Brendan as his own name. His trousers are dark and tightly fitted, accentuating his lower half. He is dressed to impress, there's no two ways about it.

He seems...distracted this morning. Walker watches him as he continuously glances behind at the stairs, then back again disappointedly, as if waiting for someone to emerge. Cheryl, Walker presumes, or Joel. He is not prepared to ask, because he can sense that the man is anxious, a certain nervous energy coming off him in waves.

Brendan pours himself a small glass of whiskey, his hands shaking as he holds it.

"Bit early for that, isn't it?" Walker quirks an eyebrow. "On the job, as well."

"Stay out of it."

Walker holds his hands up in a defensive gesture. Brendan rolls his eyes and his gaze travels once again to the stairs.

Walker begins to realise that there is only one person who is capable of making Brendan act this way. A certain boy, a cocky little chancer. Brady's downfall.

He is willing to test his theory.

"Something's come up, Brendan."

"What do you mean, something?"

"A deal. Low risk. Well paid. You interested?"

He can see Brendan weighing it up. They haven't been on a business trip in months. A large percentage of Brendan's income comes from these deals. Brendan may not touch the stuff himself, but he has no problem in acquiring it. He seems to get a certain thrill from it, a buzz from the idea that he can get away with it.

"How far away is it?"

"Liverpool."

Brendan's face changes, rejecting the idea immediately.

"It's all yours."

"I told you, it's good money."

"Well you can keep it. I want nothing to do with it."

"Suddenly the perfect angel, are you?"

"I'm not leaving Chester." His voice is firm, resolute.

"Why? What's so important that you can't go away for a couple of days?"

As if on cue, a pair of footsteps sound on the stairs. Brendan puts the glass of whiskey down in a rush, and it clatters on the bar. He straightens up, smoothing down his shirt, wetting his lips. He only has eyes for one person.

Suddenly the footsteps still. Walker stares at the boy, who looks startlingly vulnerable. It is not just the mere physical appearance of him, lean to the point of skinniness. There is something desperately fragile about him in this moment, his eyes impossibly large and blue as he stares across at Brendan. There is a flicker of hope on his face. Hope mixed with a larger dose of fear.

"Hiya." It comes out weak, in the form of a stutter.

Brendan glances between Walker and Ste, then cocks his head towards the office.

Ste hesitates a moment, then moves past Walker. Walker lifts up the stock, banging it down as loudly as possible without breaking it, to make them think he's not listening. Ste closes the door behind them, leaving the barest inch of the room within eye sight.

Walker quietly walks over towards them, leaning against the wall and trying not to breathe.

"You okay?" Brendan asks, his voice low, gruff.

"Mmm." Ste stands with his arms crossed.

"Why didn't you..." Brendan hesitates, looking like he's wrestling with himself. "Why didn't you come over sooner?"

"I never said I would."

"Yeah, but...I thought..."

"What?"

Brendan stares at the wall opposite Ste, avoiding his gaze.

"I thought we were together now."

Ste's body unclenches ever so slightly, his expression softening.

"You...you want us to be?"

Brendan moves a step closer, staring at the boy's lips. "You know I do."

Ste's arms unfold, and he exhales a breath.

"I wasn't sure...I wasn't sure if you'd still want it. Me."

Brendan laughs as if the idea is ridiculous, impossible.

"I told you yesterday -"

"I know. But everything always goes wrong. We've been here before, haven't we?"

"Not like this. I meant what I said, Steven."

Walker has to strain to hear what Brendan says. He almost whispers the words.

"I love you."

He leans forward and gives Ste a tentative kiss on the lips. Soft, hesitant. Testing the waters, waiting for the current to overtake them both.

They stare at each other for less than a second before Ste's hands are everywhere. In Brendan's hair, on his face, at the back of his head, pulling him closer into the kiss, on his hip, clutching the back of his arse, running his fingers down his back. Walker underestimated his one. He had him down as innocent. Naive. He's discovered that he's quite the opposite.

Ste backs them towards the door, never removing his lips for a second. Walker quickly moves away in case he's seen, but Ste only gives the door a sharp kick with his foot, making it slam. He hears a slight banging noise, like two backs hitting a wall, and then nothing. He can imagine what's on the other side of that door, the sounds and sensations and the smell of sex. He is so close to it, and every minute or so he wonders whether it's a groan or a laugh he can hear, or just his mind playing tricks on him.

So it's official. No more hiding, no more tiptoeing around each other, not quite friends but not quite anything else, either. They are...well, whatever they are, whatever they've always been. Boyfriends. Fuck buddies. A couple. Walker isn't particularly interested in the logistics. He just knows that everything can go in motion now. He could have gone after the boy from the minute he'd met him. That would have been enough to rip Brady's heart out, to crush the life out of him. But what would be the satisfaction in that? It would have been too easy. And Walker likes a challenge. It had to be now, when Brendan's claimed Ste as his own, when he knows what it's like to have him, and feels the despair of the boy being torn away from him.

He pretends to be consumed with a task when Ste and Brendan eventually emerge from the office, grinning sheepishly at one another. Walker watches as Ste practically fans his lashes at the older man, bold as brass. Brendan tucks his shirt into his trousers, his eyes never leaving Ste's face.

"You two took a long time."

Brendan gives him a warning look.

"We had business to attend to."

Walker has to stop himself from laughing. He settles for a suggestive smile at Brendan.

"Sure. Business."

Brendan ignores him, turning to Ste.

"See you tonight, yeah?"

Not for the first time, Walker feels entirely cut off from the two, as if he's just been excluded from the conversation. From the room.

Ste nods, biting his lip. Walker has noticed how it seem to be a bit of a quirk of his. Sucking that stubborn lip, placing those teeth around the pink, moist flesh. When he's nervous, when he's in anticipation. He imagines Ste lying on his back in bed, as Walker discovers just what's underneath that uniform, those chinos and shirt. How he'd make Ste scream for it. How he'd bite the lip for him, drawing blood.

Ste glances once more at Brendan, as if checking that he's still there. The corners of his mouth turn up, and it's akin to seeing sunshine break through the clouds, dazzling with its intensity.

"Ste?"

He turns, looking shocked to be addressed by him. They have barely exchanged more than a few sentences. Walker plans to change that.

"Your shirt's on inside out."

Ste looks down at it, noticing how the thread of the fabric is visible. Brendan's jaw clenches. Walker would have imagined he'd be scrupulous at checking every miner detail, every hair or item of clothing out of place, lest he display to the whole world who he's fucking. That's the Brady he knew in prison. This boy has him acting reckless. He makes him a target.

A light blush covers Ste's cheeks as he debates whether to go and change now or do his own version of a morning after walk of shame. After a moment he shrugs his shoulders, a grin spreading over his face. A silent fuck you, and fuck everything that doesn't include me and this man who I've just had against the desk. He has balls, Walker will give him that.

He's going to be a delight to play with.


	3. Chapter 3 Ste

_**7th January, 2013**_

The flight lasts for several hours. Ste is surprised that he managed to get Brendan to agree to it at all. He put up a good fight, presenting a multitude of reasons why Ste couldn't go to Ireland with him. He had the deli to look after. The kids would miss him. Amy would never agree to it, to Ste going away overnight with a man that she despised. And what would Doug say?

None of this fazed Ste. He waved all of these arguments away with a dismissive hand. The deli would still be there when he got back. There would be enough staff to cover. The kids visited Mike up in Manchester regularly, so they would survive without their dad for a couple of days. Ste was an adult now, and Amy would have to accept his decision. He and Doug weren't together anymore. And this was important. When he said that, he looked directly into Brendan's eyes, unwavering, and said it like he meant every word.

Brendan books a last minute flight for him. It's not cheap, but he refuses to accept Ste's money, his voice becoming firm when insisting that he pays the full amount. They are due to leave the following day, and Ste goes home to pack the basics. A couple of polos, some tightly fitted jeans. Some warm jumpers, as he knows it'll be even colder in Ireland this time of year. His hand hesitates over a pack of condoms he has tucked away in his side drawer. He laughs at himself for even entertaining the thought for a single second. He has no use for them, not this weekend, not with this man.

Facing Amy is just as hard as he expected. She is all shrill tones, crossed arms and a barrage of words designed to hurt. She questions him again and again over how he can even consider this. A whole weekend away with _him_, as she refers to him as.

"He needs someone."

"He's got Cheryl!"

"She's dealing with her own stuff. He can't be alone when he sees Lynsey. I don't know if he can face that."

"Why do you care?"

He is startled by the question. Why does he care? He cares because...well, because he cares. There is no why, or wherefore. He just does. It is as natural as breathing.

He is grateful as always for the presence of Leah and Lucas. Under their watchful gazes Amy does not raise her voice, does not antagonize him as she might if they were alone. Ste does everything in his power to avoid her, because he knows that she will do her best to talk him out of it. He doesn't want her to be right.

* * *

The day they leave, Ste waits in Jubilee Gardens. A cab has been booked to take them to the station, and he feels uncomfortable, nothing but his rucksack to keep him company as he listens for the footsteps which he is not entirely sure will ever come. He knows this feeling, this feeling of waiting for Brendan, and the wait lasting forever. He is not just thinking about Disneyland, about Brendan driving straight past him with Declan, not even looking back at him in regret. He is thinking of all the times he has wanted Brendan desperately since they first met, and waited for him to want him back just as fiercely. If this was Doug right now, he'd be here. The right time, the right place. He wouldn't let him down. He was solid. Ste's rock. It should have been enough.

The cab arrives, the driver looking at him expectedly. Ste wonders how he's going to be able to explain that he's been stood up. He can't go to visit Lynsey on his own. He thinks whether he should go somewhere else, to avoid the shame of retuning home, of being let down yet again. He doesn't fancy hearing a big fat I-told-you-so from Amy. Perhaps he could go to Brighton. He's wanted to go there for a while now. It was one of the places he planned to move to with...well, maybe now's his chance.

He approaches the cab, his feet feeling like led, like dead weights.

_You're an idiot, Ste Hay. For thinking that he would come. For thinking he might still care._

"You going somewhere?" That voice, deep and drawling, distinctive. That voice that gets to the heart of him.

He is carrying his own small suitcase, and is dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt, which clings to him in all the right places. He sounds confident, assured, but Ste can see the nervousness in his eyes, the uncertainty.

"You're late."

Brendan nods, having the decency to look ashamed.

"I was...sorting some stuff out. I'm sorry."

Ste has a million questions. _This stuff - anything to do with you and me? About whether you should be here at all?_ His mouth feels heavy under his attempt not to speak his thoughts. He doesn't want him running scared. As far as Brendan's concerned, there may be no 'you and me.' Perhaps the knowledge that this is it, that there's no turning back has hit him with its force. This is a version of Disneyland that they never had.

Brendan holds his hand out, motioning for Ste to climb into the cab first. Ste shuffles onto the seat, and hears the sound of Brendan closing the door behind them. He gives the name of the station, and the cab begins its steady drive down the road.

Ste is immediately aware of the close proximity of his body to Brendan's. The sides of their legs touch, and Brendan's face is tense when he stares at it quickly out of the corner of his eyes, as if Brendan's trying not to move a muscle. Ste moves his leg away, and feels a loss of warmth. The almost charged like state that was there a moment go has gone, just like that. He stares out of the window, his mind consumed with thoughts of them sitting side by side on the plane for hours. He has no idea what they'll talk about. Will Brendan want to remain silent, or will he expect Str to keep him occupied? Does he want to talk about Lynsey, or is it inappropriate? Is the whole thing just a terribly inappropriate idea, driven by Ste's selfish attempt to be close to him?

The driver puts on the radio, and the cab is filled with the sounds of love and loss and desire and pain. Ste thinks he could drown in it.

* * *

Brendan has booked a hotel for them. Ste struggles to hide his excitement at it. Growing up, he was lucky if he got his own room, let alone got to stay in one that didn't belong to him. The carpets look brand new, the bath tub white and gleaming, the beds made with complimentary chocolates on the pillows. Brendan straight away makes a beeline for one, sucking it leisurely and lying back against the headboard. Ste puts his rucksack down on the adjacent bed. Him coming here happened in such a rush that he never even had time to consider them sharing a room. He was so focused on being there for Brendan. The practical matters - where they'd sleep, where they'd wash and eat - hadn't entered into his mind. He's sure that he would have never come at all if it had.

A part of him is surprised that Brendan didn't somehow try to book a room that only had a double bed. He feels a twinge of disappointment, and hates himself for it.

Brendan watches him, amused as he feels the softness of the sheets. Ste catches him looking.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just reminds me of when we stayed in that other hotel. Remember?"

How could he forget? The way Brendan's body had worshipped his, making him feel things he'd never felt before. They'd had all night to explore what this thing between them was, and in the morning they'd woken up in each others arms, Ste kissing him all over before Brendan's protestations that they had to get back to Hollyoaks had fallen on deaf ears, to be replaced by the intoxicating sounds of thrusts, the bed shifting underneath them, and Ste shouting Brendan's name. Part pleasure, part pain.

"Vaguely." Ste says, and they share a lingering smile.

"You hungry?" Brendan asks.

"Starving. Know any places?"

"There's a good restaurant in town."

"Lead the way."

* * *

It is already dark when they walk together through the streets. Ste looks around as they make their way there, trying to soak it all in. The atmosphere, the people, the surroundings. He tries to imagine Brendan being here when he was younger. He somehow can't picture Brendan as a kid. Was he always this tough, or did he used to let people in? For some reason he can't imagine his life when Brendan wasn't a part of it.

Brendan's not wrong about the restaurant. The service is excellent, and they get what is according to Brendan, one of the best tables in the place, with a view of the city. Ste orders a beer, nothing too strong, because he doesn't want to forget this night. Brendan sips at his own drink, and Ste wonders if he's thinking the same thing.

"So, what's good here?" Ste asks, surveying the menu.

"The steak's nice."

They catch each others eyes, and Brendan looks unsure for a moment, regretful.

Ste laughs, and his face relaxes.

"The steak, eh?"

"Or the fish. The fish's really good."

When the waiter arrives, they both order the salmon.

* * *

The whole evening feels wrong to Ste. Wrong because nothing is out of the ordinary. Everything is too normal, too enjoyable. He realises with a start that he is actually having fun. Any silences they share are comfortable, familiar. It's just enough for Ste that Brendan is besides him, that he knows he's there even if he can't hear the sound of his voice. And when they do talk, it's akin to a puzzle piece slotting into place. Equilibrium restored. Brendan laughs at Ste's attempts to make jokes. Ste watches in amazement at how much food Brendan consumes, at how it never sees to reveal itself on his body, before blushing, remembering that same body, the way it looks, the things it can do. A few times their legs touch under the table, and it is like being back in the cab, that same electricity coursing through Ste's veins. He loves it and hates it, the way Brendan makes him feel alive by the merest skin on skin contact. It is something that he could never achieve with Noah or Doug, much as he tried. He wonders if Brendan feels it too, that push and pull between them, the light that never goes out. If he does then he puts on a good act, never revealing it in his face.

He carries on eating, his eyes down, while Ste feels foolishly weak, scolding himself for his lack of self control. The last time they did this, were sat at a table surrounded by other people, eating like...like some sort of couple, everything had been different. Ste's conscience had raged at him, despising himself for once again allowing him to be so at Brendan's will. The man had been the same as ever, not letting him even choose his own dinner, booking a room for them both like Ste was some kind of rent boy. Someone to chew up and spit out.

This time, everything has been Ste's choice. His choice to come to Ireland. His choice of what to eat. Brendan has talked to him as if he is his equal, not his plaything. He's looked at him like his opinion matters, like his entire self matters.

When the bill comes, Brendan drifts out of his food induced sleepiness and puts down a bunch of crisp notes onto the table.

"What are you doing?"

"Paying."

"Yours didn't cost that much."

"It's for you and me, Steven."

Ste feels his pulse quicken despite himself at those words. _You and me. _

"Brendan, you've already paid for the flight and the hotel. You're not paying for the meal too."

"I want to."

"Well we can't always get what we want, can we?" Ste says, raising his eyebrows.

Brendan sighs, and places his hand over Ste's when he makes an attempt to return some of the notes. That same warmth and softness of skin caresses Ste, and he feels his breath hitch. Brendan withdraws his hand quickly, and Ste's remain still, the imprint of the touch lingering.

"Please," Brendan says, low, pleading. "You coming here, it...it means a lot. I just want to give something back to you."

Ste shrugs, faking nonchalance, and repeating the words he said to Amy.

"You needed someone."

"No." Brendan shakes his head against the idea. "I need you."

Ste stares at him, shocked. He has never heard Brendan say he needs anyone, least of all him. Wants him, yes. But needs? Like Ste actually has something to give him, something more than sex? More than being his punching bag? Something that only he can offer?

He fiddles with the cutlery in front of him, just so he can do something, anything. The words are too big, too terrifying to speak aloud. He doesn't know what's worse - the idea of rejection, or of getting exactly what he wants.

Brendan makes the decision for him. Leaving the money on the table, he stands, slinging his jacket around him. Ste can't help but admire how he looks, not just tonight but every night. He has never seen anyone so gorgeous, so desirable.

It feels like an impossibly long walk back to the hotel. They are largely silent, Brendan's words at the restaurant humming in the air between them.

_I need you._

When they get back to the room, Ste is grateful for the distraction of the television. He flicks through the channels, settling on some action film, and lies back on the bed, trying to get comfortable. He is constantly aware of Brendan sitting on the bed next to him, idly looking on his phone. Ste barely registers how the film ends, whether the hero or the villain proves victorious. He guesses the hero. They always win. If only life was so black and white.

Ste plans to change into his pajamas just before going to bed, so he can do it underneath the covers. But he soon realises there is no way to do this without attracting attention and looking strange, so he excuses himself to the bathroom, bringing his boxers and white t-shirt with him. He locks the door, concentrating on the noise of the tv, anything but his own heartbeat. He runs the bath, waiting for the water to turn warm. He immerses himself into it, and it burns against his skin. It feels good, easing the tension from his body. The tub is filled to the brim, and he lowers himself into it, until only his face and neck are uncovered.

Closing his eyes, his mind drifts. He imagines the last time he was in a place like this, when he had woke in the morning to find a very prominent erection pressed against his leg, alerting him to Brendan's arousal. Brendan never had any qualms about sleeping naked. He seemed to prefer it, that feel of his bare skin against Ste's own. He wouldn't do it here though, would he? When they're not together, not like that. Ste shivers at the thought, his hand wandering under the water. It glides towards his groin, brushing against his pubic hair, the sensation tickling him ever so slightly. He lightly swipes his fingers over the head of his cock, and that small movement alone fills his body with need. He takes his cock in his hand, his mind alive with vivid images, all of which he knows he should be avoiding. Brendan's lips. His arse. His cock. The sounds he makes when he's cumming. The way his body spasms and his grunts become fiercer in nature, ripped out from his throat. How when he really loses it, he calls out Ste's name like it's the only word he's ever known. How he'll lie wrapped up in Ste's arms afterwards, sometimes with his cock still inside him, as if reluctant to break that connection. How he'll nuzzle his face against Ste's hair and neck, laying wet kisses there, like a silent thank you.

Ste's strokes become so hard they're almost violent. He licks his lips, imagining Brendan's tongue darting in and out of his hole, teasing him, preparing him for the main event. No one has ever fucked him the way Brendan has. Ste couldn't get enough. He'd be screaming for release while begging for more. Ashamed by his own desire for it, and completely set free at the same time. As if he'd at last found who he was meant to be.

"Steven? You alright in there?"

Ste sits up suddenly in the bath, causing the water to slash over the sides. He swears under his breath.

"Yeah, I'm fine! Nearly finished!"

His cock feels at the point of bursting, the frustration of not cumming driving him to distraction. He settles back into the tub, and tries to think of someone else, to help him finish off. Celebrities. Men who adorned the posters of his walls when he was a kid, before he realised that the real reason he had them was less to do with admiration, and more to do with something he didn't want to admit, something at the back of his subconscious.

Nothing works. Admitting defeat, he thinks of Brendan one more time, and the water changes colour around him, his cock turning flaccid. Part of him feels frustrated, more strained than before, because the hands that were on him were not Brendan's. Drying himself hurriedly and dressing, he slowly comes out of the bathroom. Brendan is dressed in his own pajamas, only his top half visible, the rest hidden underneath the covers. Ste puts his hands in front of himself, feeling distinctly on show, exposed. He sees Brendan's eyes look down at his legs, at the dark hair covering them, before looking away, as if he's noticed nothing.

Ste pads over to the bed and makes a fast grab for the covers. They feel like a shield, defending him from Brendan's heated gaze. Ste knows his body isn't impressive. Brendan must have been with men since him who are more solid, not so skinny and shapeless. He rarely thinks about them, these other men. But when he does he can think of nothing else.

"Thanks for today, Brendan."

He means it.

"No problem."

The room feels heavy, loaded with the unsaid, the undone.

"Goodnight," Ste says, because it is all he can think of. He is not ready for more.

"Night." Brendan turns off the lamp beside him, and they are plunged into black.

The hotel is silent. This is not the season for tourists, and the only guests Ste has seen have ben of the older variety, not the sort to make noise at night. He almost wishes for something to disturb the peace.

He can't see him, but there's never a moment when he's not aware that Brendan's in the room with him. Ste has spent countless evenings in the same space as him and not felt this same energy, this buzz. But they were surrounded by customers then, drunk students in their path. There is nothing between them now, nothing but a few inches of carpet.

He begins to count sheep in his head, before he curses whoever came up with that ridiculous and useless game. He shifts in the bed, but then gives that up too, not wanting Brendan to know that he's still awake. Brendan himself remains still, not making a sound.

_Lucky bastard. He gets to dream and I can't even have that._

When Ste eventually falls asleep at around 4 o'clock in the morning, he sees visions of long fingers entering him. A beautiful voice, coaxing him nearer. Blue eyes, darkened with lust. A smile reserved just for him. Lips that were designed to fit around his own.

When he wakes, there are tears on his cheeks from the loss of the things he wants.

* * *

On the second day, Brendan is ready to visit Lynsey's grave. Ste feels helpless. Nothing seems good enough to say, right enough. He has been through this. Rae's funeral, placing fresh flowers over her stone to replace the old ones. Thinking about her in the earth, alone. But it suddenly strikes him that everyones pain is different, and he is not sure whether he can make Brendan's any better.

They pick out a selection of flowers together, the brightest ones. Brendan inhales them, his eyelids drifting shut. He carries them like they're precious, delicate.

When they reach her grave, Ste stands back. He has no idea why he does it. He intended to be by Brendan's side, but in the moment it doesn't seem right. This is the first time that Brendan has got to be alone with her. Somehow it feels important that he is not interrupted.

He sees Brendan laying down the flowers, and talking to her. Ste gets that, that need to talk. To feel like even though the person's not there, they're not gone either. He looks away quickly after, feeling like he's intruding on a private moment.

After twenty minutes, Brendan walks back to him. His eyes are rimmed with red, and his hands are shaking. He seems to be collapsing under the weight of his own body, and nearly buckles. Ste catches him, holding him up. Brendan places a hand on Ste's shoulder, allowing himself to be supported.

Ste doesn't even think about it, he just leans in and hugs him. There is something wonderfully, perfectly solid about Brendan, even when he's falling apart. He clings onto Ste as strongly as Ste clings onto him. The wind whips at their bodies, but Ste doesn't feel as if he's going to blow away. He feels the opposite of breakable.

* * *

His rucksack is packed. Ste knows it would have been quicker to keep everything in there, but it felt more like being at home, unloading all his things, putting them away in drawers, so that his clothes lay folded next to Brendan's. Now everything is empty once more. They are ready for checkout in two hours. Ste slept better the night before - still intermittently but he woke up smiling. Somehow the dreams that infiltrated his mind had felt hopeful, reachable. Now, they feel like dust.

In less than twenty four hours he and Brendan will have returned to their lives. Separate directions, separate rooms. He won't go to sleep knowing that he lies metres apart, his presence both exhilarating and panic inducing. He won't eat meals with him, watching as he devours anything and everything. He won't spend every waking moment talking to him, listening to every word that comes out of his mouth, thinking that no sound will ever be as sweet.

Brendan surveys the room, making sure everything's been cleared away. His eyes travel over Ste, sitting on the bed, looking down at the floor.

"You're quiet." So he's noticed. He's noticed this black cloud that has fallen over him, which feels like it'll never go away.

"Steven?" He says, when he gets no reply. Ste hears a sigh escape from his lips.

"What have I done this time?"

Ste laughs hollowly. "That's just it. You've done nothing."

"Am I supposed to understand what that means?"

Ste shakes his head. It is easier to say nothing, to ignore the way things have been between them these past few days. He doesn't know what's on the other side if he were to make a change, if he were to do exactly what he wants.

"Look, why don't we grab some breakfast? I'm starving."

So is Ste, but not for food. He has an emptiness in his gut that nothing but Brendan can fill.

"And then what? Get on the plane, go back home? Pretend that none of this ever happened?"

"Why are you beginning to sound like a whining woman right now?"

Ste has heard these words before. He closes his eyes, and laughs against them.

"Would you change me, if you could?"

"What?" Confusion spreads over Brendan's face. His is disarmed by the turn of the conversation.

"If you could change who I am, would you?"

Brendan looks at him, a tick in his cheek.

"No," he says, very quietly. "I wouldn't change a single thing about you. Except..."

"Except what?" His stubbornness? His argumentative streak? His intelligence? His humour? His body?

Brendan avoids his gaze, like it physically hurts to look at him.

"Except I'd make you love me."

All Ste can hear in the room is the tick of the clock, slow and methodical.

"If I had any power at all I'd make it as hard for you to leave this room, this place, as it is for me."

Brendan's voice is twisted with emotion. If he is acting, then he is doing a stellar job. Sincerity pours from his every orifice.

"How long have you felt this way?" Ste manages.

Brendan laughs. "My whole life, it feels like."

Ste knows the feeling.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because...you were with Douglas. And I can be a lot of things, but I won't be your...rebound, Steven. Sometimes I think being that would be better than being nothing, but...I can't be your second choice. Not when you're my first."

Second choice? Ste almost laughs from the absurdity of it. Brendan has always been the first, the last, the only. The knowledge of this has killed him at times.

"Don't." Ste whispers.

Brendan mistakes this for rejection, and his face is wrought with pain. He holds his own words back and nods, like the effort of doing so takes an intolerable amount of will.

"I understand. I've done a lot of...it's unforgivable, the things I've done to you. I don't expect you to take me back."

It is all happening so fast. Ste is not sure he is ready for this, ready for this conversation, for where it could all lead to. He only knows that he doesn't want to walk out of this room, because when he does, it's over.

"Brendan?"

He is still, signaling that he's listening.

"Sometimes I wish things were different, you know? That when we'd met, you had been able to love me. Properly, I mean. Because I think you did love me, in your own way. But it wasn't enough. Sometimes I wish that I'd never kissed you, that I'd walked away. That I'd reported you to the police for what you did to me. That I'd never gone back to you, again and again. Because every time I did, it was like you had me all over again. Every part of me, yours. And there was no part of me that didn't want to belong to you. Loving you was really hard, you know? Harder than trying to hate you."

"I know."

"You know what I wish for most of all?"

Again, that silence. Ste wonders if Brendan is scared to hear him.

"That you could just be kissing me now."

Brendan's eyes meet his, shock making them large, dark. He looks chained to the spot, frozen in time. Once again Ste is struck by the realisation that underneath all the toughness and outer shell, Brendan is just the same as him.

Brendan seems to reach a decision within himself, to shake out of his reverie. He moves towards Ste slowly, and Ste feels like it's the longest walk in the world, like Brendan will never reach him. But he does, standing so close that Ste can see every line on his face, every hair on his moustache, every exhalation.

He leans forward, stilling an inch away from Ste's lips, as if asking for permission. That's a first. Ste nods gently, because there is no question, there never has been.

The first kiss is soft, beautiful, frustrating, because it is not enough. Brendan draws away, and it is like he is trying to do this right, to give Ste the control back. His eyes contain everything his words cannot.

_Your move._

Ste places a hand at the back of Brendan's neck, pulling him closer. The kiss quickly becomes more than just a kiss. It is a preamble to sex, their tongues seducing and enticing each other. Brendan groans against his mouth in between breaths. It is exactly as Ste remembered it, the tastes and the sounds and the feel of Brendan's lips crushing against his own.

Fuck, he has missed this. But he needs more of it.

He steers Brendan towards the bathroom, leading him to break away and stare at Ste in confusion. Ste smiles, kissing him on the tip of his nose, willing him to trust him. Brendan stares at the bed suggestively, but Ste takes his hand, and Brendan follows him.

Ste runs the water in the tub, pouring some bubble bath in, watching as it swirls, its aroma filling his senses. He reaches up with his arms and pulls his t-shirt off, watching with satisfaction as Brendan's eyes drink him in. He helps Brendan off with his own shirt, and then starts at the buckle of his jeans, Brendan shaking out of them. They both stand in their boxers, and Brendan gives him that same look, asking for permission, before taking Ste's off, hands clasping at the cheeks of his arse, feeling the peachy expanses of flesh, stroking his thumbs over it.

Ste's hands feel as though they're tingling as he pulls Brendan's boxers down to his ankles. His cock lies between his legs, his pubic hair untamed and irresistible in its masculinity. Ste motions towards the bath tub, which is big enough to accommodate them both. He climbs in first, wetting his hair under the water so that it's slicked back.

Brendan gets in at the opposite end, spreading his legs so that they wrap around Ste's waist. The water covers their thighs, and their cocks disappear underneath. Ste wants to see Brendan's, so his hand begin to move towards his legs, beginning its path towards what he wants to claim.

They don't break eye contact the entire time, Brendan's eyes staring into Ste's as if he's the last thing he will ever see.

When Ste's fingers find Brendan's cock, he gives a few teasing strokes, reacquainting himself with the sensation of it. It is thick, and wonderfully slippery in the bath, the water acting as a kind of lubricant. Brendan struggles to keep his eyes open as Ste's ministrations intensify, and Ste feels his own skin heat up at his movements, at the memory of Brendan's cock being inside him, filling him so acutely.

"Is that good?" He whispers. He already knows it is, but he is enjoying the idea that he can turn Brendan into a quivering mess.

"Mmmm." He pushes forward for more, wetting his stomach further in the process, his treasure trail becoming darker from the water.

Ste feels something building inside of him. Touching Brendan is amazing, but not what he craves. He needs to regain that feeling of being torn apart at the seams, of being put back together again piece by piece, of being as close as humanly possible to the man he loves.

"Bren?"

"Yes?"

"I want you inside of me." His own words surprise him, the truth of them, the passion laced in his voice.

Brendan's eyes open, and he stares at Ste with raw desire.

"Do you have a condom?"

_Shit. _He thinks of the packet he left at home, that he stupidly didn't bring because he hadn't hoped...had never in a million years thought that...

He shakes his head apologetically, thinking of the run to the shops he will have to make. Time wasted when it could be put to far better use.

"Don't worry, I have some."

Ste's relief is palpable, and Brendan grins in acknowledgement. He gets out of the bath, soapy water trailing after him, leaving an imprint of footsteps. He returns moments later with a packet, climbing back into the tub, kissing Ste before ripping open the condom, sliding it onto his wet cock.

Ste places his chest against the bath tub, his arse sticking in the air for Brendan to penetrate, but Brendan turns him over.

'I want to look at you when I fuck you."

This idea makes Ste turn a bright shade of pink all over. Brendan always did like watching him as he entered him, seeming to enjoy the way Ste would respond, eyes widening, lips parting, hands gripping his shoulders. It's a turn on, the idea of someone wanting him badly enough to see every movement he makes.

"I don't have any lube."

"It doesn't matter," Ste says, because it doesn't. He can take the discomfort if it means Brendan is inside him.

Brendan's hand vanishes beneath the water, and Ste knows what he's about to do. It makes him feel dizzy.

A finger circles his hole, lightly brushing over it. Ste wants to be rubbed, to be licked, and he can't stop the frantic words from coming out of his mouth.

"Come on, come on."

Brendan smiles. "So bossy."

Ste ignores him, reaching underwater and guiding his finger, pushing it into his hole. His insides flex against the invasion, contracting around the finger tightly, his instinct rejecting it, his heart and body welcoming it.

Brendan seems to be as enthralled by it as Ste is, nibbling at Ste's shoulder as he stretches his internal muscles. Ste struggles to contain an all over body shudder as two fingers, then three enter him, and he gives into it. A series of expletives leave his mouth, unable to stay trapped inside. It feels good, to let go like this again, to stop pretending that being with Brendan isn't what he wants. Shyness left him long ago, replaced with a certainty that he likes fucking men. One man in particular.

"I can't wait. Please."

For once there is no comeback, no taunts or smart words from Brendan. He withdraws his slick digits, and Ste moans against the feeling, almost regretting asking him to remove them.

But then Brendan has Ste's legs wrapped around his neck, and the swish and heat of the water is the perfect component of the back and forth between them, the never ending flow.

Brendan breaches him, and it is exquisite, Ste's entire body succumbing to it, allowing for it to overtake his senses.

His thrusts start slowly and languidly, before building up to a faster pace. The two men kiss throughout, because no amount of contact will ever be enough. The agony of being apart for so long has left them, and there is only this now. There has only ever been this.

* * *

They lie back in the bath afterwards, Ste's face against Brendan's chest, their bodies covered in bubbles, Brendan's fingers tickling and pawing at Ste's back.

"What now?" Ste asks, almost fearful.

"This," Brendan hums into his hair. "This now."

_**25th January, 2013**_

He knocks quickly on the apartment door. Everything about the place is unfamiliar. The door, the fittings, the paint that adorns the walls. He shifts from foot to foot, feeling uncomfortably out of place. He doesn't belong in these surroundings, this luxury. He has no idea how the man affords it. All he seems to have to his name is a bar job at Chez Chez. But then everything about the man is a mystery, isn't it? He's an enigma wrapped in a riddle wrapped in a jacket. Ste laughs at the memory of the thing, always zipped up to the neck, like a suit of armor. It's as much a part of the man as Brendan's tailored suits.

"Hello?" He hears no reply, no movement inside the flat. He feels a twinge of annoyance at the idea that he's wasted his time. He could have spent the day with the kids, but he's here instead, away from the village, visiting someone who he barely even knows, is not sure he wants to know. He is not going to go away and have to come all the way back again, so he knocks louder, practically falling through to the other side of the room when the door is opened. A woman stands behind it, a leggy brunette, dressed in an extremely short skirt, skyscraper black high heels and a vest top. Ste looks at her as if she's crazy, which she may well be. It's _winter. _

She gives him a curious smile. "Can I help you?"

"Is Walker here?"

"Walker? Oh, Simon."

"Yes. I'm here to see him."

She laughs. "Isn't everyone? He's in there somewhere."

Very helpful, Ste thinks. She walks past him, disappearing down the hallway. Looks like someone had an eventful night.

Ste tentatively enters the flat. He is angry now, angry that Walker is not even ready to greet him so he can leave immediately, but he is still aware that he is in a near strangers home, and has no idea what he's just walked into.

"Walker?" He can't bring himself to call him Simon. It feels too personal.

Walker steps out from the bedroom, as smoothly and gracefully as a cat. He has a towel placed loosely around his hips, and his bare torso shines with the still drying water from his shower. His usually long hair looks shorter now wet, and he gives a cool, collected smile in Ste's direction.

"Steven. Glad you could make it."

"It's Ste, actually." Only two people call him by his full name. His boyfriend, and Amy, when she's in a particular mood with him.

"Ah yes, sorry. It's force of habit. Brendan always calls you it."

"Right. Well anyway..." Ste avoids Walker's eyes, the sight of his near naked form. He knew what time Ste was due to come over. Couldn't he have at least prepared himself, instead of Ste interrupting him after finding some random woman leaving?

"Have you got my phone, then?" Ste still doesn't understand why Walker couldn't have left it at the club. In fact, he doesn't even remember it falling out of his jacket to begin with. He hasn't told Brendan about this visit, and he is not quite sure why. Perhaps it is because he knows how he worries. He tries to mask it, but it has not gone unnoticed by Ste how his entire body becomes rigid when he and Walker are in the same room.

Walker holds Ste's phone out towards him, and Ste gingerly takes it. Walker's hand brush against his as he does so.

The room is stifling, and Ste longs to escape from it.

"So, looks like you had a good night," he says, trying to lighten the atmosphere, gesturing to the door where the woman just left.

"What, her?" Walker says with boredom. "She was okay, I suppose. She passed the time."

Ste doesn't know how to respond to that. Why sleep with someone just to give you something to do? He has never felt that way about Brendan. Their encounters have always been overridden by need for each other.

"To be honest, Ste." He steps closer, and Ste wants to warn him to hold onto the towel, because it looks dangerously close to falling.

"I prefer more of a...challenge." He grins, and Ste realises for the first time what large, gleaming teeth he has.

"A challenge?" He says faintly.

"Mmmm. Someone a bit more...hard to get. Know what I mean?"

"Well, there are plenty of women in the village like that, I'm sure."

He remembers how Cheryl seemed to have a thing for him once, practically drooling at the mouth in his presence. Although he's not entirely sure that he'd be happy for her to be reduced to the role of Walker's girlfriend. And he's sure that Brendan would despise the idea. Whether it's due to protectiveness or something more, he doesn't know.

Walker runs his tongue over his teeth, staring at Ste with more intensity than is necessary.

"I'm not so sure."

"Oh, well...you're not bad looking, you know," Ste trails off, and Walker laughs loudly.

"No, I didn't mean I'm not sure if they'd be interested in me. I mean, I'm not sure if it's a woman I'm after, Ste."

Ste blinks, confused. "Oh..." He is stumped. This is the last thing he expected when coming here today.

"You mean...you like..."

"Men, women. I don't really give a fuck. They're just bodies, aren't they? Warm mouths."

Ste has no idea how he got into this conversation, but very much wishes he could get out of it.

"Uh, well, thanks for the phone, Walker." He knows the abrupt change of subject will not go unnoticed by Walker, but he desperately wants to be out of this fancy apartment that he doesn't belong in, having this conversation that is straying into unknown territory.

"Of course, Ste." He says his name silkily, like it is honey on his lips.

"Let me walk you to the door."

So jarring, that combination of frankness, intimidation, and gentlemanliness.

Ste feels better now he is out of the room, in an open space.

"I'll see you at the club, then."

"Yes, you will."

Walker closes the door, but before it shuts all the way, he takes off his towel, revealing his pert, sculptured arse, so that it's the last thing Ste sees before the door clicks shut.

_**Present Day - 2nd November 2014**_

The moment before Ste is about to die, he sees a series of images. They float through his mind like air balloons, like pictures in black and white, startling him with their beauty and vividness.

_The kids._ Leah and Lucas, the only thing he's ever truly got right in this world. The two people he's always tried to protect, to look after, even when he couldn't look after himself. He hopes that they'll be happy. Not all the time, he knows that's impossible. Happiness is an emotion, fleeting, not a state. But he can only wish that they know what it is some of the time.

_Amy. _His best friend, the girl who changed his life. She is as difficult as she is brilliant, never giving up on him even when she should have. He has grown up with her, from the joy riding, risk taking, self loathing boy he was, to the man he has become. He wonders whether she ever truly knew how sorry he was for everything he did to her, and he can only hope that she does.

_Doug. _He thinks of Carter and Hay, the business that was their shot, their chance of proving to the world that they weren't as useless, as hopeless as everyone thought they were. They needed each other, in more ways than one. He hopes that Doug can find someone who loves him the way he wants to be loved. Ste never could, but he thinks of him often, how he was there for him without him even having to ask.

_Cheryl_. Loyal, believing the best in people even when they don't give her a reason to. He wishes he could tell her how it will get better, this unbearable pain that she feels over Lynsey, how it will never become less, but it will be something she can face. A survivable pain rather than a searing one.

_Rae._ He will be joining her soon, if there is such a thing as a life after this one. He is not sure if he believes there is, has never been, but he feels certain that he will see her again, that he will be able to apologise for what he did to her, for not saving her.

_Callum._ Wherever he is now. Ste hopes he got out of the system, that he's not in jail anymore. That he escaped, because he deserved that. A second chance.

_Justin._ One of the only friends he ever had. He loved just as fiercely as Ste did. Perhaps he loved too much, so much that it destroyed the person he most cared about.

_Terry. Pauline. His dad. _He thinks about all of the pain, the screaming and the tears. The bruises, the alcohol. It still stings, and it will always sting, because something like that never truly leaves you, does it?

_Brendan. _Always Brendan. A thousand memories come into his mind. The punches, the kisses, the fucks, the immeasurable swell of feeling in his chest, how the man has never left his mind or his soul, despite all his attempts. He touches the gold band on his finger. BB and SH. A circle, infinite.

A whole life lived. Gone, just like that.


	4. Chapter 4 Brendan

_**7th January, 2013**_

They are almost late for the flight. Brendan blames Steven's lips, the irresistible sight of them, bee stung, swollen from his kisses, rubbed raw from his moustache. He blames the soft sensation of the boy's skin, the way it gleams with sweat and exertion, gold and smelling distinctly of him. He blames the way Steven feels inside of him, tight and accommodating, begging for more. He blames the boy's ridiculously loud laughter, what he says, the important things and everything in between. He is making it impossible to leave him, to willingly be on a plane, heading back to Hollyoaks, where they will have too much between them. Always too much.

Steven is quiet on the way back, resting his head against the seat, doing that lip biting movement which infuriates Brendan, because all he can think about is suggesting an impromptu trip to the toilets. His sudden silence disarms him. He thought this was what he had wanted, for them to finally be together. The words he had spoken in the hotel had not come easily. Like when he had first told Steven he loved him, they had slipped out before he had been able to contain them. He'd fought hard all his life to control everything. To live in accordance to his own rules, and things like love...it was messy. It only dug your own grave. But the boy had him reconsidering all those rules. Or maybe he'd broken them a long time ago.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" Brendan asks. He is surprised by his own words. He realises how the thought of being away from Steven for more than twenty four hours suddenly seems so difficult. Pointless, even. Why would he, when the boy's perfection now seems startlingly clear? He wants to make up for lost time, and to never waste any more.

Steven turns to him, his expression tense. "Why?"

Why does he think?

"I thought we could...you know..." Brendan raises his eyebrows suggestively.

"I'll probably be at the deli. I really can't take too much time off."

Right. The deli. Where Douglas is. The two of them, reunited. The thought makes Brendan want to break out from his seat and find the nearest bottle of Jamesons'.

Instead he settles for fidgeting in his seat, wishing the plane had better ventilation.

"Maybe in the evening..." He is sounding desperate to his own ears, and desperate's something he can't afford to be. Ever. He doesn't understand how the same person who he was sharing an intimate bath with hours before is now giving him the cold shoulder.

"I don't know, Brendan. We'll have to see." Steven stares resolutely out of the window.

_Maybe I should just leave it. He clearly is choosing to be in some sort of sulk. If he isn't going to talk, then why the fuck should I?_

_Still, sulky Steven is interesting. The way his bottom lip pouts out, and his side profile is exposing that glorious, suckable neck. If this was any other boy...but he's not, is he? He never has been._

"For fucks sake Steven, what's wrong?"

"Keep your voice down! You don't have to be so loud." Steven stares around them anxiously, checking to see if anyone's looking.

"In comparison to your voice, which seems to have gone missing."

"Alright, I get the message."

"Well would you pass it on to me? Because I feel like I'm missing something."

Steven sighs, and finally dislodges his face from the view outside.

"When we come back, things are going to be different."

Is that what he's worried about? That Brendan's not up for the challenge? Brendan almost laughs. Doesn't Steven realise that he's done with the way things used to be between them? That he's exhausted by it, the constant fighting and tears and loss of it all? He wants them to have what they had in Ireland. Indefinitely.

"I think that can be arranged," he says with a smile.

"Good. So we're in agreement?"

"Complete." Brendan leans forward, wanting to reclaim those lips.

"So we're just fooling around?"

Brendan stills, an inch away from the boy's face.

"What?"

"You and me. This is just..." his Adam's apple bobs up and down. "Fun. Yeah?"

Brendan sits back in his seat, feeling a rising wave of nausea in his throat.

"Fun?" He echoes. He has never hated a word more.

"Yeah. Like friends with benefits."

"Friends with benefits?" He speaks through gritted teeth.

"Mmm. It's better this way, isn't it?"

Is it? For who?

"What does that entail, exactly?"

"What we did in the hotel."

_What - me telling you I loved you, and me thinking you said it back, in all but words?_

"Sleeping together," Brendan says, and it is not a question.

"But just...no strings attached."

"You still want to see other people?" Brendan knows how these things work. He has seen the Hollywood rom coms, thanks to Cheryl.

"No!" Steven says quickly. "The last thing I want is another relationship."

The words sting Brendan more than he would have expected.

"But we just won't be...together."

This is what he's always wanted, isn't it? Steven Hay offered to him on a plate. Sex without all the other shit that gets in the way. And best of all, the boy's given his complete consent. It's his idea in the first place. He should be happy right now.

"Oh. Right. But I thought..."

He thought that was always the problem. Steven having to be his dirty little secret.

"It's perfect. This way we get to carry on with what we're doing, and no one gets hurt."

If this is what Steven wants, then why does he sound so empty?

"So?" He stares at him expectantly.

"Am I meant to be signing some sort of contract?" He injects sarcasm into his voice to mask how wrong this all feels. How the boy who's saying all these things is not the boy he loves.

Steven rolls his eyes. "A kiss will do."

Now that is a request he has no problem with. He stares into his eyes, and there's that look there, that mischievous look which hides all that's underneath it. Three years of history, of everything thats led to this moment, concealed by bravado, by so called bravery.

"Come here," Brendan murmurs, because he feels like he still needs to have some kind of say in all this, some form of power, however small it may be.

For a moment something flickers behind Steven's eyes. The sadness there almost startles Brendan, but it is gone as quickly as it came, and Brendan blinks, wondering if it was ever there at all.

Steven brushes his nose against Brendan's, rubbing them together. The gesture is so tender, so affectionate that it contrasts with Steven's previous words even further. Then he lowers his mouth and gives Brendan what he wants. The kiss leaves him grappling for more, his hands reaching out and clutching at Steven's neck, stroking along his razor sharp hair, coaxing him forward with his hands.

Steven breaks away abruptly. Brendan gasps for more before making efforts to control his breathing. Steven unzips his own jacket, and for a moment Brendan thinks they are going to fuck right there, against the seats of the plane, in front of the entire aisle, mid air. But then Steven covers his jacket over Brendan's lap, like a quilt.

"Thanks..." Brendan trails off, wondering if this is some sort of random attempt at warming him up. He can't exactly say that kissing Steven ever makes him feel cold.

Steven grins, glancing behind them once, then moves his arm so that it creeps under the jacket. Brendan feels a hand lightly undoing his jeans.

"What are you..."

_Oh fuck. _He is getting a hand job. On a plane. In broad daylight. Where anyone could see.

"Steven!"

"Yes?" the boy says, faking innocence.

Brendan makes an attempt to brush away his hand, but it stays on his cock, firm and hard, stroking frustratingly slowly. Steven's fingers swipe over the tip, and Brendan lets out a shudder.

"You fucking..."

"Just sit back and enjoy."

Brendan stares around anxiously. They are lucky that no one is in the aisle opposite them. Although he can't deny that there's a slight thrill to the fact that they're getting away with this, right under everyones noses. He looks at Steven, who's glancing at him with fiery eyes, unable to hide the lustful intent there.

"So this agreement we've discussed..."

That's not fair. Bringing it up again now of all times, when he's doing _this_ to him.

"Later," Brendan groans.

Steven's hand stills.

"Don't..."

"I want to know your answer."

When did this boy get so fucking bold? He is making it extremely difficult to refuse him anything.

"Okay, okay. Yes."

"Sorry, didn't hear you," Steven says, a wry smile on his lips.

"I'm not saying it again."

He grins, his hand resuming its movements once more.

Brendan closes his eyes, controlling his own orgasm, wondering what in the hell he's just agreed to.

_**11th January, 2013**_

A sharp knock sounds on the door. Two taps, followed by a pause, before the last.

Steven's knock.

Brendan rushes to the door, undoing his shirt buttons on the way. He brings the boy into the hall, making a frantic grab for his trousers, the result being that they're bundled around his ankles in less than a second.

"What, no hello? No how was your day? Charming."

"Shut up," Brendan growls between kisses, backing Steven against the wall.

He rubs his hands up and down Steven's hairy legs, cupping the cheeks of his arse through his boxers. Steven lets out a small sigh, running his fingers in between Brendan's hair. Just fucked hair, Steven likes to call it. Brendan pushes him against the sofa, and he lands there with a heavy thud. He laughs, and Brendan crawls on top of him, shucking himself out of his own jeans and shirt. He sucks on Steven's neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. The boy writhes underneath him.

"Fuck, I've missed you." He wonders if this is breaking all the rules, talking like this. He's wiling to bet that their little unwritten contract doesn't extend to emotions of any kind. But he is finding it increasingly hard to keep this purely about their bodies, about sex, because they have never just been about that. It is like learning a whole new language, one which Brendan cannot speak or understand.

If Steven is unsatisfied by his admission, he doesn't let it show. His fingers trail leisurely towards Brendan's hole, until they're close to its entrance. It's a spot that seems to leave Steven transfixed, that his tongue and fingers are on first name terms with these days. Brendan nods his consent, and Steven removes his hand, holding his fingers up to Brendan's mouth. Brendan coats them with spit, his fleshy pink tongue twisting and coiling over them. He knows how much this affects Steven, how it reminds him of what he can do to his cock. His eyes stare intently at his, and his breathing becomes shallow, his erection hard against Brendan's leg.

When they are wet enough, Brendan withdraws his fingers from his mouth, and Steven returns his hand to find his hole, covered with dark hair, soft and inviting.

"That's it," Brendan whispers, as Steven's fingers enter him, and he pauses in his kisses against Steven's neck, such is the overwhelming feeling of his actions.

"Bren, do you think today I could -"

The chain across the door that Brendan has secured is rattling, and the movement startles them both. Steven removes his fingers hurriedly, causing Brendan to wince. They both frantically stand up, putting on their clothes, trying to remain as quiet as possible.

"Brendan? Are you in there? I can't get in!"

The voice of Cheryl fills the room, and Steven stares at him, panicked.

"I thought you said she'd be out all day!" he whispers.

"That's what she told me!"

"Shit!" Steven jumps around whilst trying to put his trainers on, falling more than once.

Brendan can't help but feel uneasy by the boy's desperation to get dressed, to conceal this thing from his sister. He remembers when he'd let Steven stay over for the night once, for the first time, and they'd nearly been caught by her. It had been him then who had been terrified, and had needed to get Steven out of there. Now he wonders what would happen if he just revealed Steven half dressed, making it clear exactly what they'd been doing, had been about to do. Would it really be so bad? To just say, yeah, Steven's here. He's part of this, my life. He's going to be part of it for a very long time.

But they have an agreement, and if he doesn't stick to it, then he's not sure what he'd be left with.

"Brendan!"

"Coming!" He tries to keep his voice calm, measured. He gives Steven the once over, checking for any exposed skin. Fortunately, there is none. Unfortunately, there is none.

"Out the back door. Now," he mouths, and Steven quickly leaves, like he was never there at all.

Brendan undoes the chain and puts on his best smile for Cheryl. She stares around the flat suspiciously, her eyes traveling from the kitchen to the sofa. When she can't see anything, she steps in cautiously.

"Sorry about that. I was -"

"Entertaining someone?"

"What?" He laughs loudly. Too loudly.

"Come on. You had someone in here, didn't you?"

"I was sleeping, actually."

_Not a complete lie. That's what I planned to do eventually. Just not alone._

"And that needed a chain across the door, did it?"

"You know how I am about my sleep."

"I'm not a complete idiot, you know."

Brendan turns his back on her, inspecting the room for anything that might provide her with more ammunition. A stray black sock. An unwrapped condom. The smell of Steven's aftershave.

"Brendan! Don't ignore me."

"I'm not!"

"Did...did something happen with Ste?"

He swallows. He is shocked by his desire to say that yes, something did happen. Something so fucking unbelievably wonderful that he can hardly believe it himself.

"Like what?"

"You know what. I mean, you two went away together for a whole weekend. And you expect me to believe that nothing happened? Plus you've been...happier since you got back."

It's true, he can't deny it. He hasn't felt this happy since...well, he's never been this happy.

"Are you and Ste together now?"

Now that he can tell the truth about.

"No. We're not together."

"But are you involved?"

"Look Chez, leave it, okay? We're just friends."

_Friends. _The word feels strange on his mouth. Unwanted.

"Okay." She looks unconvinced. "Just be careful, yeah?"

Careful - him? Doesn't she mean the other way round? She's always warned him off Steven.

"I don't want you to get hurt."

Doesn't she get it? He doesn't get hurt. He does the hurting.

_**15th January, 2013**_

It's his day off, and he's still at the club. Joel hired some useless friend of his to tend the bar, and Walker's been calling him nonstop since the night before to get him out of there. Permanently. It was so much simpler when he had the best barman he'd ever known working for him.

His hands never leave his phone as he lounges against the chair in the office, listening to Walker giving him a barrage of reasons why the kid has to go.

_You off yet?_

_Give me half an hour._

He immediately receives a text back.

_Too long._

He smiles despite himself.

_Twenty five minutes._

_Still too long._

_Someone's being demanding today._

_I thought you liked that?_

"Brendan."

He jumps. He'd forgotten Walker was in the room.

"Hmm?"

"You're not listening, are you?"

This is becoming a regular occurrence. He has the tendency to block everything else out where Steven's involved.

Walker's eyes move down to look at Brendan's phone. "Who are you so busy texting, anyway?"

"He's fired."

"What?" He looks taken aback by the change in subject.

"That lad. Whatever his name is."

"Thomas -"

"Never mind. He's gone, yeah? Satisfied?"

"I suppose." Walker observes him from his chair.

"Well I should be going." He stands up, imagining Steven waiting for him. In bed. Wearing nothing but socks.

"What's the hurry?" Walker blocks his path.

Brendan frowns, registering how close Walker is standing to him.

"It's my day off."

"So why not spend it in style?" Walker leans forward, his lips ready to crush against Brendan's.

He has been here before, in a different lifetime, when everything was falling apart. When Steven had written him that letter, when he'd lost eighty grand, when he had to endure seeing Douglas with someone who should rightfully have been his. But there is no letter now, only a full inbox with half a dozen messages from Steven. Steven has put aside money from the deli each month to slowly pay him back. He and Douglas are just business partners. Everything's been stitched back together again, so that it's better than before.

"Walker." He sidesteps him, swiftly moving away towards the door.

"I want our relationship to remain strictly professional." He enunciates every word, so there is no room for error, for confusion.

Walker looks at him speculatively. "Are you seeing someone?"

"I really don't see how that concerns you."

"I don't like to be lied to, Brendan. I thought we made a good team."

"We do." With Walker he knows where he stands. It is easy, safe. Walker never expects anything from him.

"Then tell me the truth."

Walker knowing he's with Steven must be avoided at all costs. And for some reason, it has nothing to do with Steven wanting to keep their agreement a secret.

"I just think we shouldn't do this. Yeah?"

Walker stares at him, those hooded eyes revealing nothing.

"Whatever you want."

Brendan nods, then leaves Walker alone in the room.

_**19th January, 2013**_

He senses him before he sees him. He hears that laugh, that strong Manchester accent, those drawn out vowels. Brendan has grabbed some lunch at The Dog in between work, and has just been about to leave. Checking his watch, he decides he can spare fifteen minutes or so. He's his own boss, for fucks sake.

He allows himself a glance in his direction. Steven sits down first, followed by Amy and Michaela, her hair its usual shade of shocking pink. Amy spots him at the bar and faces away quickly. Ste gives him a look under those long eyelashes, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth. Brendan wonders whether he is being flirtatious on purpose. Steven knows he can't resist that.

"Look at him!" Michaela's voice rings out loud and clear, and Brendan shudders at the reminder of his encounters with her, the time he has spent listening to her droning on, unrelenting.

Her eyes follow a guy at the bar, and Amy glances at him appreciatively.

"Nice."

"Oi you, what about Dodger?"

"I can look but not touch, remember?"

"Better leave him to me. What do you think, Ste?"

Brendan tenses as he watches Steven give the man a once over.

"I think you should forget it."

"What?"

"Sorry, but I think I'm more his type, if you know what I mean."

Brendan listens to their easy laughter.

"No way!"

"I'd bet you any money."

"Yes, because you were so right about Ally, weren't you?" Amy reminds him.

"One mistake."

"Are you sure?" Michaela asks.

"I just told you, didn't I?"

"Well go on then." She nudges him, and Brendan's jaw clenches. He holds his glass tightly in his hands.

"What?"

"It's been ages since you got any!"

"Michaela!" Ste says, blushing.

"Well, it's true! Since Doug, isn't it?"

Steven says nothing, staring at his hands.

"She's got a point, Ste," Amy chimes in.

Not for the first time, Brendan wishes she had gone to New York with Lee when she'd had the chance.

"You haven't seen anyone for a while now."

"What's so bad about being single?"

"Nothing. But look at you!"

"Stop it, Ames. I'm really not bothered about it." He gives Brendan an anxious look out of the corner of his eye.

"Why? Are you seeing someone already?" Michaela squeaks excitedly, clapping her hands together.

"No! No, course not. And I don't want to."

"You say that now..."

Brendan scrapes his stool back, hastily downing the last of his drink, forcefully swigging it back. It tastes bitter in his throat.

He walks straight past Steven's table, and he can feel eyes burning into the back of his neck. He inhales the air outside, leaning against the railings, staring down at the ripples in the water of the pond. He thinks he hears footsteps behind him, and walks back to the flat before anyone can find him.

* * *

It doesn't take long for him to hear that old familiar knock at the door. He considers letting it go unanswered. But there are things that need to be said, and he thinks he finally feels ready to say them.

"Where are the girls?"

"At the pub. I told them I needed to go to the deli."

Brendan scoffs. "Great. So now you're using Douglas as your cover."

"Does this always have to be about Doug?"

"You tell me. You're the one who brought him into this."

"And I wonder why!" Steven shouts. "I wonder why I could have possibly wanted him, when you were beating me up and screwing anything that moved!"

Brendan is silent, waiting for Steven to stop.

"I'm sorry," he finally says, barely audible. "You know I am."

"It doesn't mean anything. Words mean nothing, Brendan. It's what you do."

"Then let me show you. Let me prove to you that I've changed."

Steven shakes his head. "Where's all this coming from? You storming out before, getting jealous over Doug? We don't do this, remember? Not anymore."

"Fuck our agreement, Steven. Fuck friends with benefits."

Steven stares at him, open mouthed.

"We've never just been friends. We could never..."

"I thought this was what you wanted. Me, without some sort of relationship."

"I thought it was what I wanted too. And maybe it was, once. But not now."

"I can't go back to before, Brendan. The way things used to be. I can't be hurt by you again."

"I'm not going to punch you -"

"There are other ways to hurt a person."

Brendan is stuck at this. He can't promise Steven that he'll never be hurt. There are other factors, external factors that are beyond his control. Danny. Warren. He wasn't always able to save Steven from them. Being with him, marking him out as someone special...it makes him vulnerable. Being Brendan's Brady's boyfriend will never not be a risk.

"I will look after you as much as I can, Steven. I give you my word."

"It's not the world I need protecting from, Brendan. What if you wake up tomorrow and decide that you don't want to be with me, and that you're sick of it all? What if you find some younger, better toy to play with? What if you get scared? I can't feel worthless again. I won't."

Brendan walks forward and holds Steven's face with his hands. He strokes his thumbs down the boy's cheeks, wiping away the tears that have escaped.

"I'm asking you to trust me. I know I don't deserve it. But I want this more than anything I've ever wanted. This, what we have right now, it's not enough for me. I can't wait around and watch you with some other guy."

"I told you, I'm not looking -"

"You say that now, but what about in a week? A month? What happens if someone new comes along, and you stop having excuses to give to your friends? I'm not who I used to be, Steven. I'm not just going to hide away behind closed doors, and pretend that I don't know you. I want us to be together."

Steven places his hands on top of Brendan's.

"I can't," he whispers.

"All or nothing."

Steven closes his eyes. When he reopens them they are hardened.

"Then I guess it's nothing."

Brendan feels the loss of his hands, the loss of his face. The boy is walking away from him, and he can do nothing to keep him here. Nothing but hit him, and that is impossible now.

"I love you." Somehow it's not enough, but to Brendan it's everything. The perfect expression of what he's feeling, and he is tired of holding on to his pride. Tired of not letting the mask slip. He is losing him, and he knows he'll hate himself forever if he doesn't try.

Steven turns his retreating body, looking at him with so much earnestness and pain that it makes Brendan want to wrap his arms around him. Steven always did find it difficult to keep his face a blank canvas. It's one of the things that drew Brendan to him, the way every emotion flitters across his face, how he keeps nothing hidden.

Steven opens his mouth, his eyes sparkling. But then the moment's gone, and his mouth closes, and he turns away. Out of reach. And when Brendan looks up again, he is gone. The room is empty once more, the vision in front of him having vanished.

He knots his fingers together, and paces up and down, resisting his desire to tear the place apart. He only does so for Joel and Cheryl's sake. He doesn't think they could take anything else after Lynsey, and he'd have to explain what had happened. He's not sure he can even explain it to himself.

He looks at his hands, remembering the way they held Steven. How they will never hold him again.

He drops to his knees, because he thought this was it. Them, being together. No more hiding, or lying awake at night, imagining Steven with other men. Being able to tell Cheryl. He suddenly realises how proud of Steven he was. How he wanted the people he cares about to know that this boy had chosen him, that he was all his. And now he'll never have that.

There's a knock at the door, and Brendan wants to tell them to fuck off. He doesn't care who it is.

The knocking persists, and then it changes. Two knocks. A pause. Then a third.

He leaps to his unsteady feet, throwing the door open, his heart in his mouth.

Steven stares at him, unblinking.

"I love you too."

_**23rd January, 2013**_

The sound of pots and pans banging together wakes them. They lie curled in each others arms, their naked bodies intertwined. Brendan brushes the sleep from his eyes, as Steven wriggles in the bed.

"What time is it?" he asks.

Brendan grabs the alarm clock. "Almost nine."

"Give me like an hour."

"Haven't you got to be at the deli today?"

"Panini's can wait."

"I'm expecting a ham and cheese one though, Steven."

"You always are."

"And what Brendan wants," he gives Steven a kiss on his belly button. "Brendan gets."

Another kiss.

Steven stretches, yawning. "Alright, I'm up."

Brendan lifts the covers, surveying the sight before him. "Not yet, but you're getting there."

Steven laughs, batting Brendan's hands away. "We're never going to get anywhere if you do that!"

The thought of Steven being tied to his bed all day doesn't exactly fill him with dread, but he admits defeat. The boy's right. Minutes tend to turn to hours when he's in the same room.

They dress relaxedly, Steven helping Brendan with his shirt buttons, Steven getting a little carried away at one point by the feel of Brendan's chest hair underneath his fingertips. Brendan lends Steven a pair of his pajamas as the boy can't locate his misplaced polo and jeans. They're too big, but somehow they suit him. Brendan could get used to this, seeing him in his clothes.

When they're finished, they stand in front of the mirror, viewing their contrasting frames. Brendan's sculptured, muscular figure in comparison to Steven's skinny, toned body. Brendan's pale skin, Steven's golden. Brendan's dark brown hair, Steven's caramel coloured, shaven off at the sides.

"We look good," Brendan says smugly, and Steven doesn't argue.

"You ready for this?" Steven asks him, nervousness creeping into his voice.

"Ready."

They pad down the stairs, hearing the familiar sounds of the morning routine unfolding. Brendan knows he will find Cheryl making him a full English breakfast, with toast and marmalade for herself. Joel will be on his second bowl of cereal - undoubtedly something sweet, along the lines of what kids eat. Frosties, or Coco Pops. The same thing that lies in Steven's kitchen cupboards.

"Morning, Chez."

She turns around, seeing Brendan and Steven standing side by side, as if it is the most natural thing in the world. The plate she is holding clatters to the floor with a crash, fragmenting into pieces. Joel's spoon hovers in mid air, inches away from his gawping mouth. Milk pours from the metal, droplets landing in his bowl.

"Oops," Brendan says, looking down at the mess on the floor.

"Ste!" Cheryl sounds both delighted and terrified. "What are you...I mean, I know what you you...but...what the hell are you doing here?"

"Well he wasn't playing chess, sis."

Cheryl stares at Brendan imploringly. Joel's mouth still hasn't closed.

"Hiya," Steven says awkwardly, giving a small, uncomfortable wave.

Brendan knows a lot is riding on this. That if he gets this wrong, Steven may not forgive him.

"Steven stayed here last night. He's my..."

He steels himself to say the word he hates.

"Boyfriend."

Cheryl looks like she's going to faint. Joel looks mildly sick.

"You mean..."

Steven takes Brendan's hand in his. Brendan's first instinct is to withdraw it, and ask him what he thinks he's doing, and in front of his sister and Scottish Foxy of all people. But something about it makes him hold on.

"We're together, yes," Steven says confidently.

A smile breaks through on Cheryl's face, and Brendan feels like kissing her. Her approval, her belief that he can do this and not fuck it up, it means everything to him.

"That's brilliant! Come here, you!"

She gathers Steven in her arms, squeezing him tightly. Steven grins at him over her shoulder, looking distinctly relived.

"Take a seat, then!" she says, when she finally releases him.

"Oh no, I don't want to interrupt."

"Don't be daft, we want you here! Don't we, Joel?"

Joel grunts.

"Honestly Ste, this is the best bit of news I've got for...well, for a long time. Especially after everything that's happened lately." Her voice is low.

Steven looks at Brendan, and he nods, gesturing to the empty chair beside Joel. Brendan places a reassuring hand on his back before sitting down himself. Cheryl offers him a plate containing sausage, bacon, grilled tomatoes and fried egg.

"What about that?" he asks, motioning to the broken plate on the floor.

"Forget that, I'll clean it up later. This calls for celebration!"

Joel remains quiet, shoveling Coco Pops into his mouth with a renewed vigor.

Steven grabs the packet and a bowl. Last night left him feeling starving, and from the way Brendan's eating, he's not the only one.

Joel glances at him. "That's mine."

"What?"

"The Coco Pops. I always have them."

Cheryl rolls her eyes. "Come on Joel, I think you can spare Ste a few. You don't even pay for them!"

"Shouldn't he have enough money for his own breakfast? He gets benefits, after all."

"Er, no I don't. Amy works. I work. I own a business, if you don't remember."

"How could I forget?" Joel mutters.

Steven fills his bowl up to the brim.

"So Ste, you going to be hanging around a lot?"

"Play nice, Joel," Brendan cuts in.

"I'm just asking -"

"I said," Brendan emphasises the words. "Play nice."

He steps on Joel's foot underneath the table, trapping it with his own. Joel winces in pain, and grits his teeth when Brendan relents.

"Fine."

He finishes the last of his cereal, and storms off to his bedroom. Brendan and Steven smile at each other, before realising that Cheryl's looking at them with bright eyes.

"What?" they both ask at the same time.

"Nothing," she says, grinning.

_**27th January, 2013**_

"Steven?" he calls out, looking around at the blue surroundings of Carter and Hay.

The lunchtime rush has gone, and he's alone there. No one's at the counter. Just the way he likes it, quiet and with the promise of a quickie in the back room.

"You in here?" he asks, opening the door to the kitchens. He is greeted by the sight of Douglas, chopping vegetables against a wooden board, apron securely tied around his waist.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, shocked.

"I'm just looking for Steven."

"Does it look like he's here?"

He ignores the dig, the tone of his voice.

"I didn't know you'd be here today."

He and Steven have agreed that Brendan only comes into the deli on Douglas's days off, which are few and far between. At first Brendan had argued against it, especially as Steven spent a large proportion of his time there. But Steven had insisted on it. He had told him that he didn't want to cause anymore pain than he had already, and Brendan had to admire his efforts.

"Sure you didn't," Douglas snorts. "What was your plan? Come here, rub my face even more in the fact that you're with Ste, and I'm not?"

"I should go."

If Steven knew he had come here, that Douglas is upset by this...

He heads towards the swing doors, but stops at the last minute. He knows he shouldn't, he knows he should resist. But he has to say this. It's screaming to come out of him.

"You're angry Douglas, I get that. I would be too. In fact, I was, when I found out about you and him. I was fucking furious, but I kept it inside. Or tried to. I'm not going to say I'm sorry for the way things worked out. I'll never be sorry for being with Steven, because he's the best part of my life. But I know how it feels, seeing him with someone else. Losing him. I know what it's like to live without him, and it's hell. So I'm sorry for that."

Douglas looks at him with loathing in his eyes. "You expect me to believe that? You've always hated me."

"I've never hated you. I hated you being with him, yes. But I understand what it's like, falling in love with him. There's no one else in the world who can understand that more than me."

_**30th January, 2013**_

Happiness is a strange thing. Almost more alien and unexpected than sadness. When it comes it is often brief, fading without warning. For Brendan, happiness made him feel uneasy at first. He felt that he was standing in front of a precipice, ready to be pushed off at any moment. Steven having such trust and devotion towards him thrilled him and frightened him in equal measure. The closer they became, the more he let the boy in, the more he realised how potentially dangerous it was for both of them.

He was aware that the way he loved him wasn't normal, wasn't entirely healthy. When he thought about something happening to Steven, something bad, he was filled with such a murderous rage that it would take a while before he could speak to anyone again. He knew that he couldn't be around him all the time, and that Steven needed to be independent. It was essential for the survival of their relationship. But he didn't know how much longer he could keep it up. It felt like the outside was closing in, making it no longer just about the two of them.

Walker knew about them. Brendan had let his guard down in the office, allowing the door to remain ajar as he and Steven talked. He had been unable to stop himself from fucking the boy against his desk, with Walker outside, being able to hear whatever sounds they could not conceal. And afterwards, with Walker's comment about Steven's shirt being inside out...

He couldn't let that happen again. He had to try to keep Steven away from Chez Chez. What had once seemed a safe place, a place where it had all started between them, was now strictly out of bounds.

Brendan didn't like the way Walker looked at Steven. Where once Noah and Douglas had looked at him with something like love, Walker looked at him with a strange kind of angry desire. He had noticed it more than once. He almost laughed at the insanity of it, but he couldn't pretend it didn't exist. If kept unchecked, this could be a bigger threat than Warren or Danny.

A man, in love with his boy.


	5. Chapter 5 Walker

_**30th October 2011**_

He corners him when visiting hour is over.

"So?"

"So what?"

Walker narrows his eyes.

"What do you think, you moron? What exact conversation have we been having for the past month now?"

"Oh yeah," Ben says, that usual vacant expression on his face.

Walker has chosen him purposefully. If he tells anyone about their little conversations, no one will believe him anyway.

"They were talking about some lad."

Walker's eyes widen. This is new. Usually Brendan and Cheryl's conversations consist of news on how Lynsey's doing, and how his kids are. And any updates on if Warren's cronies have let off since her last visit, which they never do. Brendan is sporting a particular nasty black eye, which gives him the appearance of a defeated, broken victim.

Which may not be too far from the truth.

Walker wonders if this is finally the key he's been looking for. The missing puzzle piece, the thing that will answer the unsolved question about who Brady is. What makes him tick. What he truly cares about, for a man who seems to care for very little.

Walker knows who this lad is already.

"Steven?"

"Yeah - how did you know?"

"What did he say about him?"

Walker needs to know everything. Is he one of his sons, a friend, a brother, a cousin? Or a lover, which Walker strongly suspects from Brendan's tortured cry in the middle of the night.

"That woman brought him up. Said he's been helping out a lot at the club."

A co worker then? Or an employee?

"And?"

"He sort of...stiffened."

"Stiffened? What do you mean, stiffened?"

"He looked...I don't know, awful. All the colour drained out of him. He didn't say anything for a good while. Then he asked how he was. This woman -"

"Cheryl."

"Yeah, Cheryl. She said that he's coping, under the circumstances. And he asked her if he said anything about visiting."

Waller draws as intake of breath. The famous Steven, the man who has managed to break through into Brendan's dreams, come to visit at last?

"What did she say?"

"She said he never mentioned it, and that she didn't think it was a good idea."

Walker has a good mind to knock some sense into her.

"Why not?"

Ben frowns. "I don't know, it was weird...she said that he had already hurt him enough."

"What's weird about that?"

"Brady pointed to his eye, and said he knew how that felt now. And she said it's not the same thing."

Walker tenses.

"And then they just stopped talking about him. Completely stopped, like he had never been brought up. But I'm serious, Brady looked fucking terrible. Sick as a parrot."

"Anything else?"

"Nah, not really."

"You can go now."

Ben huffs, moving past him. He has learnt not to argue by now.

Walker has wanted to know more about Brady for a while, since the man first entered his orbit. He was sure that this Steven held all the answers, that he is his weakness. But now he feels more confused than ever. Brady has hurt this man, that much seems clear. Has hurt him in ways beyond the emotional.

Perhaps the man carries a similar bruise to the one covering Brady's face, a mark connecting them.

He could be wrong about their relationship. Perhaps he is part of the reason why Brady is in here, although from reading the papers, Walker is sure that Brady's crimes only extend to women. Maybe Steven was a boyfriend of one of the girls who was murdered. Perhaps this is the man showing a rare sign of remorse.

But something, something that he can't shake, tells him that it's not that. That it's something more. More complicated. Every day Walker spends with Brady, the more certain he becomes that he is gay. He appears uncomfortable in the presence of men, constantly on edge.

The rest of the men positively drool in Cheryl and Lynsey's vicinity, their sex starved brains driving them. Brendan barely bats an eyelid at any of the women who come to visit.

Waker thought about fucking Brady the first time he saw him, and he never goes for what he cannot have. But Brady has never made a move towards him, or anyone else for that matter. There are ways of getting what you want in prison, of getting in with the right crowd, if you're into that sort of thing.

Walker has met Brady's type before. Closeted. Self loathing. Every inch of them rejecting their own desires. Pretending they like shagging women, when it repels them. Walker remembers a man screaming a torrid of abuse into his ear, telling him how he disgusted him, how he was a fucking faggot. Kissing him in the next breath.

If he could have been locked away for life for killing him then he would have been, but he he'd had to settle for putting the man in a coma. Last Walker had heard, he was in a home somewhere, with twenty four hour medical support. Leeching off others.

One day, he'd go back to finish off the job.

The Brady's of this world were poison.

He didn't know who this Steven was, but he knew that he needed saving.

_**26th January, 2013**_

A Saturday night, and he is home alone. He considers calling Brendan and asking if he's needed at Chez Chez, but then remembers that it's his night off too, that he'll be spending it with _him. _

Never in his life did he think he'd see Brendan so completely at the mercy of someone. He's seen the way he looks at Ste, the dumb, almost adoring smile he has on his face in his presence. The arm that he has around the boy's back, pulling him closer. The way he whispers into his ear, private, intimate.

Ste must be a good fuck, for Brendan to be so whipped. Perhaps the boy has hidden talents that Walker has yet to uncover.

Sighing, he leafs through his numerous phone contacts. There are people he could call. Women. Men. But he feels strangely restless tonight, like there's a hunger in him that can't be dissipated by a fumbled encounter with a stranger.

Besides, he blew all his cash the other night. It was worth it, to see the look on Ste's face when he saw the girl leaving his flat. He couldn't have helped but noticed the way Ste's eyes had traveled over his own near naked form. The way his ears had turned a shade of pink, his attempts to get out of the flat as quickly as possible transparent.

It was cute really, his complete inability to hide his own reactions. He can see what Brendan likes about him.

What Ste sees in Brendan on the other hand, remains a mystery to Walker. He's heard all about their past. The violence. Nothing stays a secret in this village for long. Maybe the boy is into that - the power, the control.

And he can see how Brendan appears from the outside. Long legs. Broad shoulders. Sculptured muscles. Well endowed. And that moustache, which is impossible to ignore, which should be wrong, but is somehow completely right.

He is impressive, the kind of man who demands attention, and gets it.

Walker can't exactly fault him from behind closed doors, either. He'd given Walker the best blow job of his life, his gag reflex seemingly non existent, that long, eager tongue of his licking with more enthusiasm than Walker had expected from someone so detached, so cold.

He isn't used to being on the receiving end of things, but Brendan had made him wonder what he'd been missing his whole life. He felt like they'd made the entire office move, that it had been lucky that they hadn't brought the building itself down.

But a boy like Ste...behind that coy expression, those feminine cheekbones and those Bambi eyelashes, Walker suspects there lies a whole other person entirely. He knows Brendan wouldn't waste his time on a lost cause. The boy is feisty, yet there is a softness to him. His features are delicate, so defined that he is almost beautiful. A boy like that deserves to be adored.

Brendan had made Walker beg for it. He'd withheld his tongue and his hands and his cock until Walker had had to plead for more. Ste needs someone who can give him exactly what he wants, when he wants it. It is only a matter of time until Ste looks elsewhere for someone who will give him everything his body craves.

Where Brendan is wound up, tight, Walker is loose, free. He'd fuck the boy so hard he wouldn't be able to stand for a week. So hard that he'd forget the name Brendan Brady ever existed.

"Well well." Staring down at his trousers, smirking, Walker marvels at what Ste has created. His erection tents against the material, straining for release.

Moving towards his bedroom, he locks the door shut, and goes over to his wardrobe. He rifles his hand at the bottom, searching past shirts that lie there. Hidden underneath is something he hasn't used for a while, through lack of need. Tonight is an exception. He hasn't felt like this in a long time.

He chooses a smaller one than usual. His typical preference is for a larger size, but when he surveys the smaller one, he feels a tingling in his cock, a certainty that this is what he is after.

It feels rubbery and cold in his hand, but he'll soon warm it up. Taking out a bottle of lube from the same wardrobe, he approaches his bed, lying back on the satin sheets. He strips slowly, enjoying the feel of his own hands brushing against his skin. When he is completely naked, he rests back on the pillow.

His cock is still hard, and he can't get enough of the feeling of his hand on it, squeezing, stroking. He shivers when he imagines other hands touching him instead. Smaller hands, with hairy wrists, wanting only to pleasure him.

When he feels ready, his fingers begin to circle his entrance. It had been easier when Brendan had done this. Inserting a finger himself leaves him hesitant, but he thinks of the blue eyed boy watching him, his long lashes fluttering, and he pushes it in, his internal muscles contracting around it.

He takes it out and puts a generous coating of lube on his finger. He had forgotten how tight he is, how Brendan had been the first man to penetrate him in years, and that had all come to an end when he and Ste had become whatever they are now.

Reinserting the finger, Walker moans against the feel of it. It is better now, and it isn't long before he has the nerve to add a second one, and then a third. He continues jerking off at the same time. It's exquisite.

He imagines the boy watching him through glazed eyes, his lips pouting, his arms crossed in annoyance.

"Something wrong?"

"It's not fair, is it?"

"Hmm?"

"I want to touch you."

Walker feels himself smiling, gratified by the boy's words, by his willingness.

"Go on then."

He pictures the boy's confused, dazzled look, the brightening of his hopeful eyes.

"You mean..."

"Stick it in me," Walker breathes.

He stills his movements to pick up the dildo on the bed. He covers it in lube, closes his eyes, and fills his mind with thoughts of _him. _

_The woman has left, and Walker gleams from the wetness of the shower, from the aftermath of sex. She had fulfilled a need in him. She'd scratched an itch. But a boy is now in front of him who can scratch a far bigger itch, one which won't go away. _

"_Steven." The name falls easily on his lips. _

_It is the name that Brendan always calls him, that he'd heard for the first time in prison, through a startled, tormented cry, in the darkest nightmare. _

"_It's just Ste, actually," he says firmly. _

_Walker smirks. Does the boy think that Steven is something just between him and Brendan, something that Brendan owns? He'll soon have the boy realising that there is no part of him that belongs to that man. _

_Not anymore._

"_Right. Ste." He speaks it like velvet, like something precious. _

_He can see Ste avoiding his eyes, his body. _

"_So, have you got my phone?"_

_Ah, yes. That phone. The phone that Walker had stolen from his jacket, giving Ste the perfect reason to come here. He'd had to risk Brendan following him, but something told him that Ste wouldn't speak a word to him about this little visit. Brendan's jealousy and possessiveness are widely known, and what he doesn't know can't hurt him. _

"_Of course. It's in my room, if you want to follow me." _

_He hears the boy's footsteps behind him as he strides across the carpet. Didn't his mother ever warn him about this kind of thing? Following near strangers._

_The boy really has no idea what he's getting himself into._

_Walker steps over his discarded jeans, his shirt, and his boxers, which lie in a bundle by the foot of his bed. He sees Ste eyeing them and pretending not to, that Adam's apple of his bobbing up and down as he takes it all in. _

_His eyes widen when they fall on the used condom lying tied up on the floor, filled with Walker's semen. Walker stares at him intently, observing his reaction. _

_Ste colours, and then reluctantly meets Walker's gaze._

"_Looks like I came at a bad time."_

"_Oh no Ste, quite the opposite. You came right on time."_

_Ste blushes further. _

"_So, who was that girl?"_

_Is that jealousy he hears in his voice?_

"_Oh, her?" Walker asks, as if he barely even remembers. "Just a friend."_

_Ste laughs. "A friend with benefits?"_

_Walker stares at him, no sign of humour on his face. "If you can call it that."_

_Ste frowns. "What would you call it?"_

"_Surely you know, Ste? I bet you've had your fair share of women."_

_Ste looks incredulous, flattered. _

"_Well, I've had a few...there was Amy, obviously."_

"_Yes, I sort of guessed that from your children."_

_Ste looks at him, then creases up laughing when he realises Walker is teasing. _

"_Shut up, you!"_

"_Anyone else? Except for Amy?"_

"_One or two...why?"_

"_Well, you can understand my situation then?"_

"_Situation?"_

"_Yes." Walker moves closer to him, allowing the towel around his hips to loosen the merest inch._

"_I mean, women can only satisfy you for so long, can't they?"_

_Ste gulps, averting his eyes. "What do you mean?"_

_Walker lowers his voice. "I think you know exactly what I mean."_

_Ste fakes innocence. Walker sees he's going to have to be more direct with this one._

"_Sometimes, it takes something more to hit the spot. It takes a man. Or a boy."_

"_You mean, you're...gay?"_

_For someone whose been out for several years now, Ste is being surprisingly naive about the whole thing. _

_It is...sweet._

"_Gay, straight, bi. I don't really care for labels. I just go by what feels good. Who feels good."_

_He can see that delicious mixture of defiance and passion on Ste's face. How his head tells him to say no, to run away, but his heart will always win out. _

_He is not like Brendan, driven by his carefully laid plans, everything by the book. Ste lives by a whole different code. _

_He is the most alive person Walker has ever met. It comes off him in waves, irresistible, the kind of thing you miss when it's gone._

"_I should really go..."_

_He has gone for stubbornness, for fear. Ignoring the most basic carnal instinct inside of him._

_Walker doesn't mind the chase. He knows exactly which buttons to press, and he has a feeling this one is worth playing with._

_He looses the towel another precarious inch. It does not go unnoticed by Ste, who can't help but look. Walker has a light smattering of golden pubes, and the barest hint of them is showing through, a promise of what's to come, if only Ste would be brave enough._

"_Why would you go?" Walker asks, stepping closer. _

_The boy really does have beautiful skin, the smoothest Walker has ever seen. He longs to reach out and run his fingers over it._

_Soon he will._

"_Brendan will be waiting for me."_

_Brendan. Always getting in the way, coming between them._

"_What will he do if he finds you here? Hit you?"_

_Ste flinches. "Of course not."_

"_How can you be so sure? He has done before."_

"_He's changed."_

_Walker laughs. It echoes round the room, loud and sinister._

"_No one can ever change."_

"_I did," Ste says, sticking out his chin in annoyance._

"_Really? Isn't there a part of you that ever longs to be bad?" _

_Walker stares at his mouth, transfixed. So red. Sinner's lips._

"_No," Ste replies, but there isn't any conviction there. The boy is crumbling._

"_Brendan will only ever hurt you, you know. He is designed to hurt."_

_Ste shakes his head, rejecting it._

"_Don't you want to show him what's that's like, Ste? To hurt?"_

"_I need to leave."_

_Time to show the boy exactly what his intentions are. Walker can't bear having him this close, only to watch him walk away._

"_Or you could stay." _

_He grasps onto Ste's hand, turning him around, moving him so that they're face to face, mouth to mouth. The boy is light in his arms, and unresisting._

_Using his free hand, Walker unravels his towel, and it drops to the floor, the only thing between their bodies._

"_What are you doing?" Ste asks, barely even bothered to sound outraged now._

"_You can touch me, if you like."_

"_I'm with Brendan!"_

_Walker leans forward, whispering into his ear. _

"_He never has to know."_

_Ste stares at him with fiery eyes, and Walker admires the challenge there, the argumentative nature of the boy. He is tired of paying for it, of having these make believe connections, of knowing that someone is most likely faking every moment. _

_He wants Ste to desire him, to want him more than he's ever wanted anyone._

_He reaches forward and takes Ste's hand. The skin there is just as soft as he knew it would be, and he brushes his fingers over it, gently stroking. He trails Ste's hand down his chest, reveling in the feel of it, of how the boy requires little prompting. When Walker approaches his treasure trail, he senses Ste resisting, trying to pull back, but Walker continues, unrelenting, and Ste melts into the touch, his fingers tickling his pubic hair. _

_Walker's cock stands up thick and proud against his stomach, smaller than Brendan's own, but no less impressive. He sees Ste lick his lips, and Walker smirks. The boy wants to fuck. He just doesn't entirely know it yet._

_Walker looks at those lips that he's been dying to taste, and they part for him, as if sensing his purpose. As Ste's fingers lightly brush over the head of his cock, fondling his foreskin, Walker moves closer and closer, until the boy's lips are his. He is sweet, just as sweet as he imagined, and wonderfully warm. _

_The combination of their tongues working together and Ste jerking him off is enough for him to feel his orgasm beginning to build. He loves how open the boy is, how he holds nothing back. The opposite of Brendan, who wears a mask at all times, even when his cock's in Walker's arse. _

_There is no mask with Ste. He moans into Walker's mouth unashamedly, his hand working like magic, like it was always meant to be touching him._

_When Walker finally summons up the strength to break off, he looks at Ste with a smile, amazed by the boy's perfection._

"_You want more of this?"_

_Ste nods vigorously, spit making his lips glisten._

"_How much more?" He needs to be sure how far he can go._

"_Everything," the boy groans._

_Walker laughs. Right answer._

"_You'll have to trust me, Ste." _

_The things he wants to show him, to do to him, require that. Complete trust._

"_Do you?"_

"_No," Ste says immediately. He pauses. "But I want it."_

_That is enough. That is all that's needed._

_Walker beckons him to the bed. He removes a condom and bottle of lube from the wardrobe, as well as a black box._

"_Take your clothes off."_

_Ste does so quickly, eagerly. Walker can't take his eyes off him. He is skinny, his stomach concave. He looks pliable, flexible. His skin is lightly tanned, like caramel, and Walker wants to lick every inch of it, devour it whole. His nipples are pink, and erect already. Whether it's from the cold or from excitement, he can't tell. His legs are surprisingly hairy, as are his pubes and his underarms. Walker's eyes fall to his cock. He's got a semi, oozing with pre cum. It's very, very nice. Smaller than he's used to, but beautiful. He has imagined sucking if off for a long time. _

_Ste looks faintly embarrassed. Does he think he doesn't measure up, that Walker requires something more solid, more substantial? His anxiety is unnecessary. The boy doesn't understand how long he's dreamed of this moment. But this is better than all those fantasies. This is reality._

_Walker approaches his prey. He backs him towards the bed, so that Ste lands on the sheets, Walker climbing on top of him. The boy is clearly a born bottom. Just the way he likes it._

_They kiss again, Ste sucking on his tongue boldly. He is growing more assured with every moment that passes, clutching at Walker's backside, squeezing it desperately. Walker smiles into the kiss, admiring the lad's newfound confidence. He decides that he's ready._

_Breaking off, Walker makes a grab for the black box lying beside them. Ste stares at it, as if noticing it for the first time. He looks dazed, blinking to take it in._

"_What's that?"_

"_You said you trusted me, right?"_

"_Yes..." Ste trails off reluctantly._

"_Then don't ask questions. Just enjoy it."_

_Ste looks doubtful. Walker knows that doubt will soon disappear._

_He takes out a pair of handcuffs and a blindfold. He has used them before, and often, but never has he been so excited to use them as with this boy. His hands shake the tiniest amount as he holds them. _

_Ste's eyebrows raise, his mouth open in an 'O' shape._

"_Not something that Brendan uses then?" Walker says, and then regrets bringing the man's name into here, in his bedroom between them. This is not about him. No part of it is._

"_No...uh...not exactly."_

_He is not surprised. Walker knows Brendan uses his words and actions to control and dominate. He has no need for these toys._

"_Want to try them?" he whispers, a smile gracing his lips._

"_I don't know." The boy looks a little sick._

"_What are you scared of?"_

"_I'm not scared of anything, me." _

_Again, that stubbornness. Walker could get used to it._

"_I just...I...I'm not into all that."_

"_How do you know, if you've never tried it?"_

"_I've read about it, ain't I? You're not going to...hit me, are you?"_

"_No," Walker says emphatically. "I think you're mistaking me for Brendan. I'd never hurt you, Ste."_

"_Then...what do you want to do to me?"_

_So they have moved from reluctance to curiosity. Interesting._

"_I just want to play with you."_

"_Play with me?" Ste asks, his forehead creasing._

"_Mmm. Tie you up. Do things to you that you can't see."_

"_But...why wouldn't you want me to see?"_

"_Because that's part of the game. You don't know which part of me is going to touch you next."_

_He is sure he can see the boy shiver._

"_What if I want you to stop?"_

_What does he think he is - some kind of fucked up rapist?_

"_Then I'll stop. Straight away. I promise."_

_Ste hesitates._

"_What is it, Ste?"_

"_Nothing."_

"_If you don't tell me, then I can't do it for you. I want us to be honest with each other."_

_Ste chews his lip. "If I'm in these...handcuffs," he stutters over the word. "Then how will I touch you?"_

_Walker smirks. So that's what he's worried about. _

"_All in good time."_

_Ste looks down at the toys, debating. _

"_Okay," he says quietly. _

_Walker doesn't need telling twice. _

"_Lie down."_

_When Ste is settled back onto the pillow, Walker asks him to put his hands together and raise them to the head of the bed. He cuffs them to the head board, delighting in the way he has full access to Ste's hairy armpits._

"_How does that feel?"_

"_Fine."_

_He sounds nervous. There is no need. He doesn't yet realise it, but Walker will take care of him. Worship him. Adore him._

"_You ready for this?" He holds out the blindfold._

_Ste nods, pale. When Walker's about to put it over his eyes, he pulls back._

"_Walker, you're not going to like...put this on me and then leave me here alone, are you?"_

_Walker cocks an eyebrow. "Now where would be the fun in that?"_

_Leave him? As if that's even a possibility._

_Ste seems momentarily reassured, and Walker gently covers his eyes with the blindfold. It is almost a loss, to see those thick eyelashes disappear under the material, but he knows the reward is still to come._

"_This feels well weird..." Ste murmurs. _

"_First times usually are."_

"_Oh yeah? What was your first time like?" Ste asks curiously._

_Walker stills, memories plaguing his mind. Being backed against a wall. Large, strong hands holding him there, his screams somehow sounding so quiet, lost in the darkness. The blood afterwards, running down his body, feeling like it would never end. A sea of red, that he could have drowned in. _

_But he doesn't drown. He's not allowed to._

"_I didn't bring you here to talk, Ste."_

_Ste tenses, as if he's worried he's done something wrong. It hurts to see him so unsure. A boy like this should never be silenced. It's akin to trapping a caged bird._

_Walker offers him a soothing kiss to his temple. It is not his fault, what happened. He knows how Ste's been wounded, has been broken by punches, bruises. He wants to make it all okay._

_Walker starts from Ste's jaw. He sticks his tongue out, gliding it across his sweaty skin. The beads are hot against his tongue. He wants the boy to be molten lava by the time he's finished with him. _

_When he reaches Ste's nipples, the boy moves in the bed, bucking at the pleasure of Walker sucking on them. He gives a last parting nibble before continuing in his descent. _

_Ste's stomach is covered in the finest trail of hair, and Walker's eyes travel over each one as he moves downwards. When he reaches his cock, it is rock solid, tantilising. Ste knows what's coming, where Walker's reached, and he can't seem to stop the sounds that are coming from his mouth. _

"_Come on, come on."_

_Walker wraps his mouth around it, and Ste flexes in the bed._

"_Fuck, Walker!"_

_Walker deep throats him. The smaller size of the boy is a relief. He can get more of him into his mouth, and once Ste begins to regulate his own reactions, he starts to set the pace, thrusting slowly. Walker grasps his cock to give himself better control._

"_Tell me when you're going to come," Walker says when he comes up for air._

_It doesn't take long. He hears Ste begin to moan and swear above him._

"_Walker, I'm going to..."_

_Walker releases him from his mouth, and Ste's groans increase._

"_Why? Please..."_

_Walker laughs. "Don't you want to be fucked, Ste?"_

_That silences the boy. _

_Walker considers taking the blindfold off, but the idea of the boy feeling, rather than seeing his movements decides it for him._

_Walker quickly puts a condom on, and then bends the boy's legs forwards, so that his knees are tucked into his stomach. His entrance is clearly visible to him now._

"_You're full of surprises today, aren't you Ste?"_

_But there is no surprise, not really. Walker knew he'd be like this. Irresistible._

_Ste blushes, and Walker concentrates his attention on his hole. He gives a few short, light licks there, his tongue stretching, opening. Ste grips onto the head board, biting his lip so hard that he looks like he'll draw blood._

"_Relax," Walker purrs. _

_Brendan clearly hasn't been treating this boy right, giving him what he deserves._

_Walker makes sure his finger has plenty of lube on it before he inserts it into Ste. He doesn't want the boy to be in any pain. Again, as with when Walker was sucking him off, Ste thrusts slowly back and forth against his fingers, his body guiding him. Walker knew just by looking at him that there would be no shyness behind closed doors. The boy's every action demands pleasure._

_He withdraws his fingers slowly, ensuring that Ste gets every last enticing sensation._

"_Open up."_

"_What?" Ste asks, confused._

"_Your mouth."_

_Ste parts his lips, and Walker sticks his fingers in, allowing the boy to coat them._

"_What's that?"_

"_You."_

"_I taste..."_

"_Divine."_

"_Walker?"_

_Always talking, this one._

"_Yes?"_

"_I'm ready."_

_Words have never sounded as sweet._

_Walker lines himself up, his cock aching for release, to be buried as deeply in Ste as possible. He expects the boy to wince when he enters him, but he doesn't. Walker then realises that he must be used to it from Brendan, and this knowledge is like a stabbing pain in his heart - the heart he didn't know he had._

_Walker tries to keep it slow just in case the boy does feel any discomfort, but when Ste demands for more, for him to fuck him harder, stronger, he can't deny him that, not when his own body is screaming for it. _

_If the boy wasn't chained to the bed, then they'd be on the floor by now, with the intensity of Walker's thrusts. He has never felt this connected to another human being before. His encounters have been something necessary, giving him a short, sharp sense of satisfaction until the next fuck. _

_This is different. All he can think of is how he never wants this to end, how Ste feels just right inside him. He is not thinking about whether he is fucking a man or a woman. He is merely concentrating on the person, on the way that Ste matches his thrusts, on how his body wants it. How he is making the most glorious, sensual sounds. How the boy is fearless. _

_Soon, Walker finds that he can't bear to keep Ste from touching him. He has imagined this moment for so long, his whole life it seems, and he wants the boy's hands to be everywhere. Walker releases his cock from inside Ste, and the boy lets out a high pitched whining sound._

_Walker, panting from his exertions, un cuffs Ste and removes the blindfold. Ste blinks, those gorgeous lashes moving, bringing his hands down off the head board. _

"_Did I do something?"_

"_Touch me, Ste."_

_Ste realises then, no further explanation required._

_He puts his hands on Walker's chest, pushing him down, his mouth immediately finding Walker's cock, ready to finish him off. _

"_Oh God." He was right. Sinner's lips._

_It feels like his whole life has been building to this exact moment, right here, right now. There is no Brendan. There is just them, in this bed, enough for forever._

"_I lov -"_

Walker convulses around the dildo, cum hitting the hand which is fisting his cock. He shouts out, loudly, painfully.

Only one name is on his lips.

_**Present day - 2nd November 2014**_

Three years is a long time to wait for revenge. Some people would have grown restless, frustrated. They would have fallen at the first hurdle, revealing all their cards too early in the game. That's where the mistakes lie, where people trip up.

Walker could have done it the first week he arrived in Hollyoaks. It became immediately clear to him that Ste was an ex. More than an ex. He was the love of Brendan's life. For someone who liked playing poker and prided himself on being good at it, Brendan was terrible at hiding anything. He looked at the boy with such a large amount of desire and loss that it seemed to suck all the oxygen out of him, rendering him a pathetic, gibbering wreck.

For all that Brendan tried to control his feelings around Ste, he was incapable of masking the pain there, the regret. Walker could tell that things had ended on a bad note between them, which explained the complete lack of prison visits. Ste was bitter in his presence, walking in the opposite direction when he saw Brendan approach, using that boy he worked with, Doug, as some form of protection, rarely leaving his side.

Ste was doing a good job defending himself from Brendan's advances, but Walker wanted to go one step further. He knew men like Brendan never, ever let go. He'd be haunting Ste till the day he died, and Walker wanted to make sure that he could never touch him again.

Walker already saw that Ste was the most important thing in Brendan's life. Whenever Walker would try to distract him with a deal, a new chance to make some money, he would always be drawn back to Ste, loitering around the deli, unable to resist making a suggestive comment of some kind.

If he had killed Ste there and then, Brendan would have been dead too.

But something told him to wait. There was nothing more powerful than taking away a persons happiness. And Brendan wasn't happy. Not without Ste.

Every step of the way, Walker watched. It took time. Brendan observed Doug and Ste from the sidelines, showing he cared the only way he knew how, by interfering and mocking relentlessly. After Lynsey died, he saw the closeness that began to grow between the two men, bound together by Brendan's grief, and Ste's need to comfort him. He watched as the cracks began to show between Ste and Doug, so large that they could have fallen into them.

Brendan and Ste went to Ireland together, then danced around each other for weeks, until Walker listened to them fucking in the office, cementing their relationship.

But he still held out. He wanted maximum pain.

Then the day came. It was a bright summers day, and Brendan and Ste had been sitting in their lunch breaks on a bench at Jubilee Gardens, Brendan's arm slung loosely around Ste's waist. They were laughing, and Walker felt his stomach twist.

He approached them, and Brendan immediately stopped laughing, staring up at him warily.

"What do you want, Walker?"

Walker ignored the hostility. He admired Brendan for his intelligence, for knowing that something was amiss, had been amiss for a very long time now.

"We've got a delivery."

"Can't it wait? I'm busy."

He saw Brendan's arm tighten around Ste. Walker's answering smile felt uncomfortable on his face.

"Sorry, it can't. It needs your signature."

Brendan sighed.

"It's alright, go," Ste said.

Walker had missed that voice.

"I won't be back late tonight, I swear."

"Promises promises." Ste grinned.

Brendan brushed his hand quickly over Ste's legs. What passed for affection in his world. Walker fought back a sneer. The boy needed a real man, one who was not frightened of anything.

As Walker and Brendan walked away, Walker knew this was the moment. The last three years had been building up to it. He'd seen with his own eyes the metal shining in the sunlight. A gold band on Ste's ring finger, matching the one around the silver chain on Brendan's neck.

They were married.

Nothing would ever hurt as much.

As he loads the bullets in the gun, ready to fire them in Ste's brain, Walker thinks this must be what peace feels like. By killing Ste, he is setting them both free. The only way Ste will ever escape the bruises, the blood, the broken bones, the memory of them, is if he is no longer breathing.

Walker knows that. He has never been able to escape them.

But he will soon.


	6. Chapter 6 Ste

_**24th January, 2013**_

He hears the sound of the stool next to him being scraped back. He registers the light brown ear length hair, the high cheekbones, the long, distinctive neck. That smile, that is almost a smirk. Confident, self assured, like he holds the keys to the kingdom. It reminds Ste of someone else he knows.

"Hello, Ste." That low voice that is hard to imitate.

"Walker."

For some reason he feels suddenly nervous. Walker is so graceful, and Ste feels clumsy in his presence, even when sitting down. Although Walker's not that much taller than Brendan, it feels like he towers above Ste, in a way that Brendan never has.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"No thanks, I'm set." He holds up his cocktail, one of those brightly coloured ones with the umbrella sticking out of it that Brendan loves. Ste would prefer a beer any day of the week, but Cheryl ordered the wrong stock, and now they're trying to shift it, pretending it's part of some theme, a special night out for the students. This is Ste's third one so far. He's starting to think he should of stopped at the first.

"You look like you're on holiday somewhere," Walker says, smiling.

"What?"

"The cocktail. Your skin...it's always so tanned. Golden."

Ste swallows, fidgeting in his seat. Walker's staring at him intently, his eyes trailing from Ste's mouth to his throat. The music which seemed so loud a moment ago now seems quiet, diluted.

"Well...I could always give you some tips, if you want. Teach you."

"Teach me?" Walker looks taken aback, but not displeased. "What could you teach me, Ste?"

"Fake tanning and all that."

Walker's silent for a beat, then creases up laughing. Ste is shocked, not knowing what to do. He has never seen the man like this - truly laughing. He has watched as Walker's teased Joel before, looking self satisfied, like he's amused by some private joke.

But not like now. Now, he looks...uninhibited. Free.

"Somehow I can't quite imagine myself tanning, can you?"

"Maybe not," he concedes.

Walker and Brendan are not like guys like Dodger and Darren. Ste has seen Brendan's morning routine. It consists of a quick wash, and a shave if necessary. Maybe some green tea moisturiser if he's in the mood.

But that's as far as it goes. Ste wouldn't have it any other way. He likes that untended look, the...roughness.

"It's your day off today, isn't it? What are you doing here - busman's holiday?"

"I just fancied coming down here. Seeing what's on offer."

"Oh yeah?" Ste grins. "See anything you like?"

Walker surveys him. "You could say that, yes." He pauses. "Besides, I don't have many...acquaintances outside of here."

Ste nods. He knows what that's like, although he can't say he expected that from Walker. He imagined someone with that amount of presence and authority to not even have the word lonely in their vocabulary.

But then he thinks of Brendan, and how appearances can be deceiving.

"It's hard, being new here."

"I'm not exactly new though anymore, am I?"

"Don't worry, it's only a matter of time. You seem...alright to me. Nice," Ste says awkwardly.

Walker's eyes widen under the glare of the fluorescent lights. A look passes across his face that Ste can't read.

"What?"

"No one's ever...called me nice before," he says quietly.

"Oh." Ste plays with his hands in his lap.

He suddenly feels like the conversation has taken on a serious tone - the last thing he expected when he came here tonight. And never from this man, who he's always associated with Brendan, with strictly business.

"Most people are scared of me."

Ste can see why. _He's_ scared of Walker. He's so strong, so silent, so severe. So little is known about him - what he likes, what he dislikes, where his family are, how long he plans on staying here. And yet there is a part of Ste that also feels strangely relaxed around him, in a way he never did with Warren or Danny.

"People used to be scared of me too, you know. Or they used to think I'd never be good at anything, that I was a waste of space. No one thought that more than me. But people aren't always what they appear."

"No," Walker murmurs, "No, they're not."

Ste takes a sip of his drink. There are so many people on the dance floor that he can't even see the bar, where he knows Brendan must be. Tonight is a surprise visit, as Amy's dad Mike has come over from Manchester, so managed to look after the kids.

Ste plans to let things die down here a bit before he makes Brendan aware of his presence.

"Do you want to dance?"

Ste nearly chokes on his cocktail. Gasping, he turns to Walker.

"You what?"

He looks amused, and completely calm.

"Come on Ste, don't tell me you don't know how to dance? I bet you're rather...impressive."

He's not. Brendan's told him he looks like a monkey on acid when he dances, all uncoordinated gangly limbs on display, jumping up and down, bopping along, even if it's not particularly in time to the music.

_Brendan. _He's in this very room, and Ste can imagine his face if he saw him dancing with another man. But...maybe he wouldn't mind if it was Walker - would he? They work together after all, and seem close. Brendan seems to have a kind of respect for him that Ste hasn't often seen from him. Surely Walker's no threat to him? Ste imagines he has a different woman in his bed every night, from how he acts.

It's just a dance...

"Okay, then," he says, and stands shakily to his feet.

He doesn't know if it's the cocktails, but he suddenly feels unsteady.

The music's heavy in his ears - a dance track that Chez Chez seems to be playing over and over again, night after night. Ste smiles as he imagines Brendan's disgust at it. He's a fan of stuff from years ago, of rock and roll and classical music. Student noise, he calls the club's playlist.

Ste and Walker find a free spot on the floor. Ste still can't see the bar from here, and he suspects that's a good thing, because the doubts that are already in his head would multiply under Brendan's watchful gaze, the furious expression that Ste knows would be there.

Now he's actually agreed to it, Ste feels suddenly painfully shy. The reality that he is stood in front of Walker, a man several years older than him, whose face is like solid marble, hits him with its full force.

"I think..."

"Don't worry about what you think, what everyone else thinks. Concentrate on how you feel. How your body feels."

Walker begins to move to the music. It should be ridiculous, laughable, seeing a man like him doing this.

But somehow it is...beautiful.

He has a certain sort of elegance, and is perfectly in time to the music. He never breaks eye contact with Ste, and his hips are surprisingly loose, in contrast to his usual order and precision.

Encouraged by Walker, Ste begins to dance. He's afraid he looks terrible, a joke, but after a while the music overtakes him, flowing through him. He feels liberated. He's never danced with a man like this in public before. So close, so personal.

But it is the wrong man.

Brendan would never do this. He'd squirm under the bright lights, the pounding music, the eyes he'd believe would be on them, the bodies surrounding them. It shouldn't matter. Ste knows what he's like behind closed doors, when they're alone. He has no doubt that he's the most important person in Brendan's life.

But sometimes he wants Brendan to find him among the crowd in Chez Chez. To say fuck it, and kiss him slowly and deeply, their tongues meeting, so that it all just fades away. All the background noise, all the memories of the way Ste used to be his secret, the fake girlfriends and the one night stands, and all the pointless, painful time spent apart.

He wants Brendan to lead him onto the floor and just dance with him, wrapping his arms around him, staring down at Ste like he's his entire world, like Brendan is his.

All that though - it means nothing when it's not with the right person, does it? He knew he was choosing Brendan over all those gestures of romance. He'd do it all again, if he had to. It's not even a choice.

"I'm a rubbish dancer, ain't I?" Ste asks, smiling.

"Quite the opposite."

"You don't have to be nice to me."

"I'm being truthful, Ste. More than half the people here tonight are trying to impress someone. It's all about how they look, what they say, who they're taking home at the end of the night. Fake, all of them. Spending their pathetic little lives trying to match up to everyones expectations, just to feel alive, to feel something, anything. I don't need that. And neither do you. You dance like no one's watching. You talk like no one's in the room. You smile like you're the only person in the universe who can light up that way. You have no idea of the effect you have on people, Ste."

Ste is beginning to feel light headed, and he has to stop dancing. The room is spinning, and Walker's face is becoming distant, unfocused. The words that are coming out of his mouth are jumbled, falling into each other. He knew he should have stuck to that beer.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?" Ste asks.

His heart beats louder, his skin feeling hot all over. He feels mildly sick.

But Walker is still speaking, and it sounds as though he's hearing it through a fog. He can only make out parts of it.

"Who makes you feel alive, Ste?"

That he hears. That he doesn't have to think about.

"Brendan," he replies definitively, and the words fill him, how right it feels, how he wants to be speaking that name for the rest of his life.

He doubts he'll remember any of this in the morning. The dance, what Walker said to him.

But he suspects that question will forever ring in his ears.

_Who makes you feel alive?_

The answer will always remain the same.

_**15th March, 2013**_

He stretches, yawning softly as he does so. He doesn't want to wake Brendan, but he feels sore, in desperate need to move his sated limbs, to regain the feeling in his legs.

He smiles as he remembers the night before. They'd shared a few drinks between them at The Dog, a plate of chips, Brendan frowning and batting Ste's hand away as he tried feeding him, before eventually succumbing, opening his mouth and laughing.

Ste had got ketchup all round his mouth, and Brendan had extended a finger, spooning up the red condiment, part salty, part sweet, before licking his finger clean, one long, deep suggestive suck.

After that Ste had said that home was in order, and they'd walked back, Brendan's purposeful strides contrasting with Ste's faltered, uncoordinated steps. He never had been able to take his drink.

After making sure that the flat had been empty, Brendan had had him at the foot of the stairs, Brendan on his lap, hastily undoing the buttons of Ste's polo shirt, snaking his hands underneath the material. He'd felt clawing motions on his back, and Ste had reciprocated, pulling Brendan closer, needing to touch all of him.

"Upstairs, now," Brendan had groaned throatily, and Ste had ran eagerly, smiling wolfishly over his shoulder at Brendan, who stared at him with lustful intent.

Once inside his room, Ste had pushed Brendan down onto the bed. He felt more able to take control like this now, confident that Brendan would let him. He used to feel like he was stepping over some kind of boundary, asking for more than Brendan could give.

But every time it became easier, the fear replaced by a newfound sense of certainty, that he could do this, that Brendan wanted him to.

When Brendan had entered him, Ste had been on top, riding him, setting the pace, Brendan's hips rolling up to meet him. He loved it like this, when he could watch Brendan's reactions closely from below, watch the light sheen of sweat on his forehead, the way he bit his lip trying to regulate his own desires, before they would inevitably be ripped from him in a shout of expletives and need.

They had laid in each others arms after, Ste stroking Brendan's face, feeling the traces of stubble on his chin.

"Do you ever think about growing a beard again?"

Brendan stroked down Ste's arm, soft, ticklish movements. He knew Ste liked this afterwards, that it soothed him and made him fall asleep easily.

"Why?"

"I never got to kiss it, did I?"

Neither of them liked to think of that time often, when they may as well have been at different ends of the earth. Ste remembered seeing him for the first time since he was released from prison. He had looked exhausted, broken, his face covered in red cuts.

He'd heard all about what they'd done to him inside.

But what could he have done? Thinking about him, feeling sorry for him, wanting to protect him - it didn't fit with his need to hate him, to blame him, to brand him as a killer.

Yet he'd still looked...amazing. There was no other word for it, because that's what he was, what he'd always been. He was the most gorgeous man Ste had ever known, and that day he'd had a black leather jacket on, his jumper tied round his hips, his clinging t-shirt accentuating his newly defined muscles.

And that beard...it had suited him. It made the moustache less noticeable, but it looked so much darker, and untamed. Ste had wondered what it would feel like against his face, prickling his cock, before he'd banished that thought from his mind.

"You want to kiss it?" Brendan had asked, and Ste had heard the amusement in his voice.

"I wouldn't mind..."

Brendan turned to face him in the bed. "You serious?"

Ste nodded. "It wouldn't take too long to grow it again, would it? I mean you're so...hairy everywhere else."

Brendan raised an eyebrow. "Don't know what you mean, Steven."

"Quit teasing me!" Ste's mind had wandered to Brendan's treasure trail, and the masses of hair that lay there. He'd pictured his hole, and the soft dark hair that covered it, and how it got deliciously damp when Ste's lube covered fingers entered it.

"Okay, I'll grow it. But you better appreciate it," Brendan had said, his eyes trailing over Ste's mouth, which already felt swollen from his kisses that night.

Ste nuzzled Brendan's neck. His hands stilled Brendan's from making any more circular motions on his arm.

"Don't."

"Why?"

"Because if you carry on I'm going to fall asleep. And I want to say thank you properly."

Brendan smiled. "And how are you going to do that?"

Ste loved the challenge in his voice. He still felt high on the fact that they'd had another successful date that night, no arguments, no complications, no shame. He knew it didn't come easily for Brendan, even after all this time of being together properly. He'd be twitchy for hours before they went out, pacing up and down, asking him what was so wrong with a night in, with Ste cooking him dinner.

Ste had to admit that nothing was wrong with that at all - far from it - but he loved the idea of Brendan going out with him in public, everyone knowing that he was his boyfriend.

He was trying, though. That's all Ste had ever really wanted.

Ste started crawling down Brendan's body. His cock was soft between his legs, and Ste gave it a gentle kiss along the shaft. He cupped the soft sack of Brendan's balls, massaging them as his lips encased his cock.

Brendan lay with his hands behind his head, propped up with pillows, and all that came from his mouth was barely masked sounds of approval, like a distant hum. Ste felt that same sense of power he always did when giving Brendan a blow job.

He knew that it wasn't just him who had ever made him feel this good. But it was only him now, and that was enough.

They were interrupted by the sound of the door banging downstairs. The voices of Cheryl and Joel, back from the club, drifted up to them.

Brendan encouraged Ste to resume his position by gently coaxing his head back down, but Ste stayed firm.

"Maybe we shouldn't..."

"Keep going."

"You remember what happened last time."

Joel complaining the following day that he'd been kept awake all night by 'terrible noises.' Ste had blushed furiously, promoting Joel to continue, and tell him that he didn't half say the name Brendan a lot.

"Forget about the lad. He's living here rent free, if he needs to be reminded."

"Yeah, but -"

"No, Steven. You're not just some guest in this place, you're..." Brendan stopped, as if sounding out the words first in his head.

"What?" Ste asked, always privately delighted at hearing Brendan say the word 'boyfriend.'

"You're family."

Ste hadn't been expecting that. That was...more than he'd ever hoped for.

He covered Brendan's face with kisses. Brendan was at first taken aback, before responding, wrapping his arms around the boy's back.

_Family_. The word had once meant nothing to him. He'd never had that, only Terry and Pauline, bruises and tears. Amy had made the word mean something. Brendan had made it mean everything.

"You didn't just say that so I'd suck you off again, did you?" Ste asked when he pulled away.

"Jesus, Steven!"

"Just kidding," Ste grinned, and he slinked once more down Brendan's body, warm mouth connecting to hardening skin.

Ste's body tingles now as he recalls every touch, every lingering look, the way Brendan had fucked him all over again, him on top this time, his face inches away from Ste's own, drinking him in.

It hadn't taken him long to get to sleep after that. He had felt completely exhausted and entirely satisfied, his fingers against the hair on Brendan's chest, his face resting against his shoulder, his breathing becoming more relaxed.

His dreams had been filled with the image of only one person. His eyes the deepest blue, smiling down at him, extending his hand down for Ste to take it.

He'd had that same dream countless times before, always the same. Except for the ending. Sometimes when Ste would take his hand, Brendan would cower away, dropping it like it was hot ash. Sometimes he would take it gladly, and they'd both marvel at the way their hands would fit together, interlinked, impenetrable.

He'd either wake up in tears or with a smile on his face. The days when he sleeps at home in his own bed, he'd try to contain the need to phone Brendan, to make sure that everything was still just as it was.

When he slept over at the Brady's, he'd shuffle closer to Brendan, settling under the crook of his arm, breathing in the man's scent, seeing how peaceful he looked in slumber.

He has that same expression now as Ste pads out of bed, only in his striped boxer shorts. He closes the door behind him so as not to disturb Brendan, and approaches the bathroom.

He gives his face a quick wash, noting how bright his eyes look, how his neck is grazed with a small area of pink from where Brendan has sucked on the skin. Grinning, Ste steps into the shower, enjoying the heat of the water, soaping his skin with his own personal shower gel that Brendan brought for him.

He hears someone pounding on the bathroom door, but it is nothing like Brendan's usual quiet knock, so he ignores it, showering off the last traces of shampoo. He wraps a towel around his waist, grabs his boxers, and unlocks the door.

Joel stands outside, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, eyes wide.

"Alright?" Ste mutters.

"Every morning you're in there."

"Not every morning."

"How many times have you stayed round this week? Six so far. Six!"

"Aw, someones in a rush to style their hair this morning." Ste can't resist goading him.

"I'm late because of you. Some people actually have work to do."

"So do I!"

"What, making paninis?"

Ste rolls his eyes. "Look Joel, I haven't got time for this. Get out of my way."

"Say please," Joel says, blocking him.

"No."

"Why not? I thought you were pretty good at that?"

Ste's eyes narrow.

"It's all I hear most nights. Please Brendan" he imitates.

"You what, you mouthy little git?"

"Mouthy? Coming from you?" Joel laughs, and Ste makes an attempt to grab him by the scruff of his pajamas.

"Boys, boys." Brendan emerges from the bedroom, wearing a rarely used robe of his to cover his modesty.

His eyes alight when he sees Ste in nothing but a towel, his golden hair still wet, his skin smelling of the citrus flavours of the shower gel.

"What's all the yelling about?"

"Ask your boyfriend," Joel replies, turning his face resolutely away.

Brendan looks at Ste inquiringly.

"Apparently someones been listening to us having sex again."

"Not on purpose!" Joel protests. "It's pretty difficult to avoid!"

"Well maybe if you were actually getting some yourself -"

Joel squares up to him, his face in Ste's, making his best attempt at a threatening expression.

"Okay, come on." Brendan places a hand between them, separating the two. He puts a protective hand on Ste's bare chest, making sure to keep them apart.

"I'm sick of this, Brendan. He's everywhere, all the time. The flat, the club -"

"That's only two places!" Ste argues.

"Any more and I'd kill you."

Ste watches warily as Brendan's face hardens, the tendons on his arms tensed.

"Shut up, Joel."

"I'm serious. If he doesn't stop coming here, keeping me awake all night, then...then..." Joel stutters over his words, as if not entirely sure himself. He suddenly seems to get a brain wave, his face lighting up challengingly.

"Then I'll get Chez Chez. I'll make sure that I get full ownership."

Brendan is silent for a moment. His hand is still on Ste's chest, and Ste feels his fingers stroke him delicately, a tiny movement that makes him want to buckle at the hips.

"Okay."

Ste and Joel stare at him, open mouthed.

"What?" They both ask collectively.

"If you want to fight me for the club, then fine. But he's staying, Joel. I thought I made that perfectly clear to you. He's not going anywhere, ever."

The realisation of this dawns on Joel, and he stares down at the floor, muttering something under his breath which suspiciously sounds like "What's so special about him?" before brushing past them to go into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

Only then does Brendan take his hand away from Ste, slowly, reluctantly.

"You alright?" He asks, looking genuinely concerned.

"Are you? He's serious, you know. About Chez Chez. He could take it from you."

"He could try."

"Brendan -"

"Listen," he says, pulling Ste towards him, and holding his face between his hands.

"He won't get the club. He's just a kid."

"Maybe I should stop coming round -"

"No," Brendan says firmly, urgently. He clears his throat, like he's making an effort to be calm.

"No, I don't want you to."

"But if he's going to be listening in on us...maybe I could be more quiet..."

Ste colours, wondering just what exactly Joel might have heard.

"Don't you dare." There is humour in Brendan's voice, and Ste gives an answering smile.

Time was when Brendan would have wanted to shut him up.

"I would invite you to mine more, but with the way things are with you and Amy...and sometimes the kids come into my room if they've had a nightmare."

"Yeah, we can definitely rule that one out."

"What if..." Ste entertains the thought, then closes his mouth.

There's no way that Brendan would go for that. No way in hell. He's an idiot for even thinking of it as a possibility.

And yet he can't pretend that the idea hasn't been in his head for months. Years, if he's honest, almost since they first started sleeping together. He had known it was a dim, distant dream, but had wanted it anyway. Wanted it with such a fierce, frightening hunger that he didn't know how to dissipate.

"What? Tell me."

"No, really, it doesn't matter."

"Steven." Brendan's eyes search for his as Ste tries to avoid his gaze.

He wishes he hadn't said anything. There are a million 'what if's' between them, but Ste is well aware that most will never become an actuality. It's something he had to accept when welcoming Brendan back into his life. He has no doubt that it's worth it, that he's worth it, but all those what ifs are better left unsaid.

Yet he can't seem to let them go.

"Just...what if we got a hotel or something? Like when we were in Ireland?"

The corners of Brendan's mouth quirk up. "You're a terrible liar, you know that? What were you really going to say?"

Ste sighs. How does Brendan do that? Read him like an open book, even when he tries to hide the deepest truth from him? Maybe it's the same way that Ste can tell from every frown line, every flicker of his eyes, every twitch of his mouth, every hand gesture, every body movement, whether Brendan's being honest with him or not.

"Don't make a big deal out of it, yeah?"

Things have been so good between them lately, better than Ste had ever believed possible. He can't bear to lose that now.

"I just...I thought maybe we could get a place. Together." He speaks the last word softly, almost inaudibly.

He immediately senses a shift in Brendan. Now it is him who is avoiding Ste's eyes, looking around the hallway anxiously, anywhere but at him.

Ste feels a tensing in his stomach, the feeling that the deck of cards that had been so neatly stacked has just fallen in a crumpled pile on the floor.

There is fear there, fear that he has said something that never should have been verbalised. And loneliness, like he is now the only one standing in the hall, that Brendan left long ago.

But there is also anger, anger that Brendan doesn't want to live with him.

"Steven..." Brendan's throat sounds croaky now.

Ste doesn't want to hear it. The excuses, the rejection.

"Don't worry about it. It was a stupid idea anyway. I mean, you and me living together? We'd drive each other mad, wouldn't we?"

"I just don't think it's a good idea. I've never...I've only ever lived with my family, or Chez, or Eileen."

_Right. Your parents. Your sister. Your wife. Normal family ties. But...I thought you said I was your family? _

_Or are they just words? More broken promises? _

_I'm a man, so it doesn't count, right? It never could, not in your world._

Ste moves past him, aware that Brendan's eyes never leave him. Once inside his bedroom, he grabs his clothes and his overnight things, which lie in a drawer that Brendan has specially set aside for him after so many nights spent over.

He's carrying too much, and it falls from his arms. He bends over with hot, angry tears in his eyes. Brendan makes an attempt to help him, but he pulls them off him, bundling them away from him.

"You're leaving?"

Brendan does this, stating the obvious when he's in shock. Ste feels a pang of guilt, but brushes it aside. He just wants to be in his own flat with Amy and the kids. Or even at the deli with Doug, who right now seems wonderfully uncomplicated.

"When will you be back?"

"Don't know."

"Tonight?"

"No, I'm busy."

Busy watching trashy tv and ordering mass amounts of take out, trying to resist the urge to call Brendan. He can see it now, his evening spreading out before him, bleak and pathetic.

"Tomorrow then?" Brendan's tone is pleading.

Ste knows how much this must be costing him, opening up like this, admitting that he wants him, that he needs to see him.

But a part of him doesn't care, annoyance flooding his body instead, acting as the only primary emotion able to escape.

"We'll see," he snaps, heading towards the door.

When he leaves the flat, he's sure he still hears Brendan calling his name, but he walks so fast that it becomes a distant echo.

_**2nd October, 2014**_

There's a hurried knock on the door. Ste senses Brendan rolling over groggily in bed, and pulls him closer.

"Don't answer it," he mumbles, wanting to remain in Brendan's warmth.

They try to fall back asleep, but the knocking persists. Brendan sighs and shuffles out of bed.

Ste opens an eye, following Brendan's naked form around the room as he searches for some clean clothes. He's been working out more at the gym lately. Ste suspects the teasing from Michaela about Ste being with an older man has been getting to him. He is more taut and solid than ever, his shoulders broad, his arms flexed as he bends to pick up a shirt.

Ste opens both eyes so he can take it in better.

"Enjoying the view?"

Ste has no idea how Brendan can tell with his back to him. Is he really that obvious?

"Shut up."

Ste sinks back into the pillows, trying to catch a last twenty minutes before he has to get ready to open up Carter and Hay.

He hears Brendan open the door. Whoever it is, they don't sound entirely welcome, and he listens as Brendan's words become a series of grunts. Then the door closes, and Brendan comes back to him.

"Who was that?"

"Mark."

"Mark? Who's - what, Dodger?"

He has heard Amy refer to her boyfriend as Mark a million times, as she seems to be one of the few people to call him that. But he will forever have that same nickname to Ste.

"Mmm."

"What did he want?"

"You can ask him yourself."

Ste opens his eyes again, and sees himself faced with Dodger standing in front of him at the foot of the bed, staring down at him amusedly.

Brendan has his arms crossed, eyeing him warily. Ste knows he finds this difficult, someone infringing on their personal space. Especially a man. Ste can practically read Brendan's desperation to start hiding everything that looks remotely domestic, everything that marks them out as a couple.

Which would take a fair bit of time, Ste notes smugly.

"You alright, Dodger?"

"Sorry to barge in like this. I know it's early. But I sort of need your help with something."

Brendan's looking at Ste anxiously, rolling his tongue around his closed mouth as if trying to keep quiet.

"What?" Ste asks self consciously.

Brendan's anxiety puts him on edge too, like he can feel every emotion that Brendan's feeling. It's unnerving.

"The covers..." he gestures around Ste, motioning to his own chest, then pointing with a finger to Ste's.

Ste stares down at his chest in confusion, then realises. His bare upper body is on display. He raises the duvet to cover himself. Another one of Brendan's dislikes, anyone else seeing Ste even remotely on show.

He shivers as he recalls the words Brendan likes to whisper to him when he's inside him.

"_Mine. All mine."_

Ste knows what Amy would say. That Brendan treats him like some kind of possession, a toy that belongs to him. But Ste understands. The thought of Brendan with someone else, or even being looked at in that way by someone else...

He has no problem with being all Brendan's. He never wants to be anyone else's.

"What do you want, Dodger?"

He can tell this is awkward for all three of them. Despite being with Amy for more than a year now, Dodger has never come over to their flat. He hasn't exactly had the opportunity, what with the complete lack of double dates between them. Ste had suggested they try it once, only to be silenced by Amy's barrage of protestations and Brendan's horrified expression.

"I uh...well see, I..."

Ste has never seen him this nervous before, and for once he thinks it has nothing to do with being in such close proximity to Brendan.

"I want to ask Amy to marry me."

Ste's eyes widen. Brendan's mouth opens the tiniest amount.

Amy. Married. _His _Amy.

"She's a bit young, don't you think?" Ste asks immediately, protectively.

"Well we wouldn't get married straight away. Lots of people stay engaged for years these days. I just want to ask her."

'Why?" Ste narrows his eyes. "What have you done? You haven't cheated on her, have you?"

"No! God Ste, what do you take me for?"

A former serial womaniser, for one.

"I love her, okay? And I just thought...it was time."

"Oh." Ste can't exactly argue with that.

Although...marriage. It's not something he's ever really considered. Thought about, yes, of course. Everyones thought about it. But actually had it as a possible option? That binding piece of paper, essentially giving someone permission to screw up your life, because you are tied to them, unable to get out without a fight.

What the fuck did anyone want to be involved in that for?

"Well...congrats. I guess."

"Thanks," Dodger says, ignoring the atmosphere in the room, seeming to get some courage from merely having said the words out loud.

"So, what do you want?" Brendan cuts in bluntly. "Permission? Because I'm hungry, and you're getting in the way of my breakfast."

"Brendan!"

"What? It's true."

"No, actually, I was hoping you and Doug would do the food for the engagement party."

"She hasn't said yes yet!" Ste squeaks.

He knows he's being ridiculous, that he and Amy are living in different homes, that they haven't been together in a long time. But part of him can't help but feel like this is the final, last step.

Separation.

"Why wouldn't she say yes?" Dodger looks nervous again, like a small child being told off, his mouth drooping at the sides.

"No, well I mean...of course she'll say yes. But...how much work are we talking about here? For the party."

"I don't know. Sandwiches. A few pasta dishes. You know, the usual. Party food."

Ste sees Brendan's shoulders tensed. He looks like he always does when Doug is mentioned, like he's poised for battle, every part of him on edge, no trace of warmth or humour on his face.

If Dodger wasn't here now then Ste would tell him to come to bed, and take away his fear in the way that Brendan responds to best.

"Okay. I'll do it. No problem."

Dodger's face lights up. "Great! Thanks!"

He smiles at Brendan, appearing oblivious to the glare that he returns.

"Thanks a lot, Ste!" He's practically tripping over himself in his happiness.

Ste has so many things he wants to ask him. Does he have a ring? How is he going to do it? Does he know exactly what Amy would like, how she prefers something intimate, with candles and wine and music? Does he know that he'll be taking on Leah and Lucas in an even more monumental way than before, that Ste has to always be a part of their life, that nothing can replace him?

Does he know what it's like to see another man with his kids, that he only just got used to it with Lee and Ally, before they left? Does he know how amazing that girl is, how she saved him from so many things, but mostly from himself? Does he know that if he breaks her heart, that if he does anything to hurt her, then Ste doesn't know if he can take that?

"Dodger?"

He turns at the door.

"Look after her, okay?"

He nods, smiling. Ste has to hope he means it.

When they hear the door close, Brendan comes to sit on the bed next to him, fully dressed. He stares at Ste, saying nothing.

He then slowly reaches over to hold his chin in his hand, and strokes Ste's mouth gently.

"You look sad."

"I just...never really believed she would get married. I know that's stupid. But I guess I just didn't think about it. Her actually going through with something like that."

Ste stares up at him. "It's weird to think you ever did."

"That was different. Me and Eileen...Dodger and Amy..."

"Yeah. Hopefully he's not gay," Ste says, laughing softly.

"Didn't you ever think about it when you and Amy were together? Getting married one day."

"No," Ste says, shaking his head resolutely. "I never wanted to."

Brendan looks at him in surprise. "Why not?"

Ste snorts. "With my parents? Come on, Brendan. All they ever did was hurt each other. Fuck everything up."

Brendan's hand finds his own, and he smoothes down the skin there. Ste grasps his hand more securely, interlocking their fingers.

"Do you really think that? That all marriages just...lead to pain?"

"I'm not saying that Amy and Dodger couldn't be happy or anything. But for myself...yeah. I think something like that would have just led to pain."

"You're not your parents, Steven," Brendan says firmly.

"The weird thing is, most of the time, I know that. But sometimes I still feel like their son. Entirely their son, in every way. And it scares the shit out of me."

"I wish..."

Ste can hear Brendan's voice constricted with feeling.

"I wish that I could take all that away. Change it. What happened to you. But I can't."

He gazes down at Ste's eyes, his own pools of infinite blue.

"I made a promise to you after we came back from Ireland, remember? No one will ever hurt you again."


	7. Chapter 7 Brendan

_**15th March, 2013**_

He tries to lock himself away in the office, under the guise of doing the accounts, the same accounts that he and Walker sorted days ago. He has tried to sit behind the desk and do something, anything, but his eyes are constantly drawn to his phone.

At times he imagines it buzzing, lighting up like a beacon, Steven's name appearing on the screen, more welcoming than anything he's ever known. But it remains eerily silent, refusing to give him what he wants.

They have had fights before. Numerous ones, both before and after they got together. He has witnessed Steven's sulks, how his bottom lip pouts out, how he can be cold with him for hours. But this feels...different. Perhaps it is because what Steven's asking for terrifies him. It is not something he is sure he can give. Or perhaps it's the fact that he can't be without the boy in the way he used to.

In prison he built up a kind of tolerance, a system of coping when he wasn't there. He had no choice, no alternative. Whenever his mind would wander, he'd train it back to focus on something else. Anything else. He stopped believing that Steven would ever come and visit him. His name would be the one he'd never speak.

But now...the boy is a part of him. The most essential part. He is in his veins, in every breath and every step he takes, never far from his thoughts, because to not think of Steven would be impossible. Intolerable.

Sitting in his office, he wonders what he's doing now. He imagines the expression on his face, whether it's free, or clouded over with a kind of unhappiness that pains Brendan to see. He pictures Steven telling Amy he's messed up again, and that that was his last chance. He can see his life stretched before him, an endless sea of evenings spent waiting for Steven to return to his bed, and mornings spent waking up alone.

Brendan realises with stark clarity that he can't survive that. He doesn't know how to survive that.

Fuck. He's designed to be strong. He's always been able to do this. But somehow, suddenly he can't remember how to do anything without the boy.

Brendan's hand reaches for his phone. He needs to hear Steven's voice, in whatever form. To try and make it up to him, with whatever words he has. Sometimes he wishes he could hold everything in time. Keep it all in one place, to prevent it from changing.

He thought they were okay. More than okay. He would work a day at the club, and Steven would be waiting for him at the flat. He'd cook dinner for him usually, no matter how late it was. They had got into the habit of sitting round the table together, or in front of the television, talking about their days. Even the most insignificant detail was shared. Steven had this way of making what would otherwise be a mundane account sound interesting, amusing. Something that Brendan wished he had been a part of.

Then they'd go to bed, and suddenly Brendan wouldn't be so tired anymore.

There was something about the boy that he couldn't even put into words. The word 'enough' would never come into it. He would never be able to get enough of Steven. He felt like he'd spent his whole life since he'd met him wanting more. More of what, he didn't exactly know. But he was determined to enjoy every inch of him, from his soft, golden hair to his beautiful cock, to his dirty laugh, to his unrelenting strength, which Brendan admired more than he'd ever revealed.

His finger hovers above Steven's name on his phone. He will make it up to him, somehow. The idea of not saying anything at all is far more terrifying than any apology could ever be.

"I knew it."

Brendan almost jumps in his seat. He was so fixated on Steven that he never heard Cheryl step into the office. She stands in front of him, arms crossed, eyebrows raised.

"Knew what?" He says, trying to mask his surprise.

"The reason why you have a face like thunder tonight. It's Ste, isn't it? I'm guessing he was the person you were about to call."

Sometimes he really wishes he had a sister who didn't give a damn about him, and didn't notice who he was thinking about, or who he was missing.

"Don't be silly, Chez. I was just calling a business contact."

She scoffs. "At this time? You forget, I've witnessed your Ste induced miserable face before. I know the signs."

He sighs. She's not going to give it up.

"We had a fight."

Better to reveal the inevitable than make her question him for hours.

He can see the colour drain from her face. 'When you say a fight -"

He blinks, wide eyed. "I mean an argument! Jesus, what did you think I meant?"

He knows. Of course he knows.

It stings, that she'd still think that, after all these months of not laying a finger on the boy, of attending Steven's old anger management classes. Is that what Steven thinks too, underneath it all? Is he just waiting for the day when Brendan snaps, and hurts him again?

"Sorry." She sounds small, and stares at the floor. "So what was this argument about?"

Brendan doesn't want to say it out loud. If he keeps it in his head, it makes it less real.

"Just...Joel."

"Joel?" She frowns. "I know he's still a bit weird about you two being together, but I thought Ste could handle it."

Brendan leans forward on the desk, his head in his hands. He massages his temples.

"He wants to live with me."

There's silence. Brendan wonders if she's heard. He can't bear to repeat the words again. Saying them now has forced him to confront it.

_Steven wants to live with me._

Their own place, together. Like some...some fucking gay couple. Which...they're not. They're not like anyone else. They don't have to live by rules and labels.

Brendan hears that small voice in his head which he's been trying to ignore.

_But...you are a couple. You are gay. He's your boyfriend. What are you so fucking scared of, Brady? That he wants to live with you? Or that you might want to live with him?_

"Oh, well that's...I mean...it's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Together, Cheryl. Me and him, together."

"Yes, I didn't expect for him to be asking for you two to live separately, but thanks for the clarification."

"Great, so you're mad at me too now?"

"I'm not mad at you. I just...you're practically living together now. Ste stays over almost every night."

"Then why do things need to change?" Brendan says, muffled.

He hears Cheryl sigh, and her footsteps move over to him.

"Look at me."

He reluctantly does, sensing that he's due one of her speeches. He hopes it's one of the better ones.

"Everything changes eventually, Brendan. Everything. We either change with it, or we never grow up. Look at what happened to Lynsey. We could have fallen apart, and never moved on. But we had to. Because that's what life is about. What if you had never changed? What if Ste was still with Doug, and you had never got him back at all?"

"That's not the same thing."

"Yes, it is. You wanted to be with him, so you won him back. You want to live with him, don't you? And yet you're sat here, not calling him."

"I was just about to!" Brendan protests.

"Would you have really? Or would you have hung up?"

Brendan swallows. "Maybe I don't want to live with him."

"You're a good liar when you need to be."

Brendan looks at her. "Nothing's ever easy, is it?"

She laughs softly. Sadly. "No. Usually not. You just have to think how much you want it."

"I want him."

He can hear the urgency in his voice, the realisation of the truth of this, and the fear that it's all going to slip away.

"Then pick up the phone. And don't hang up."

She walks out of the office, and he's faced with it again. That phone. Steven's number. His voice, on the other end of that line.

He thinks he can do one better. And there's that word again, in his mind.

_More._

* * *

It takes him shorter than usual to get to Steven's flat. He runs, ignoring the drunken students he passes, the people who turn to stare at him as he bounds past them. He has a newfound energy coursing through him, and by the time he reaches Steven's door he is breathless, but still feels like he could go another couple of miles, adrenaline spiking through his bloodstream.

He almost knows who's going to answer the door before they appear. Steven wears his emotions on his face like an open book, and Amy wouldn't have failed to notice. She's like a guard at the door now, defending the boy within.

Any fear that she used to have towards him has seemingly vanished. It's as if she knows that Brendan won't hurt her, but that she can hurt him in a thousand ways, all of them connected to Steven.

He feels nervous in this small, delicate, twenty three year old's presence.

"Hi Amy."

He avoids her gaze, the judgement that he knows he'll find there. He doesn't blame her. He can't help admiring her for sticking with Steven through everything, and still trying to keep him safe. He can relate.

"Brendan."

She has adopted a certain tone around him ever since he and Steven became a couple. There is still a hint of contempt, but a softer edge, if you listen hard enough for it. For Steven's sake, Brendan presumes.

"Can I speak to him, please?"

"He's not here."

He notices her blocking the door that much more.

It's moments like this when he has to contain himself. When he feels pressure in his body, like something inside him is struggling to get out. When his jaw feels rigid, uncomfortable, and heat spreads throughout him, a burning heat, hotter than the sun.

Part of him longs for release, in one of the only ways he knows how - by pushing Amy aside and forcing his way into the flat. To find Steven, who he knows is in there, and demand that he come back to him. To ask him what the hell he's thinking, making him worry like this, and fear losing him.

Yeah, that kind of release would be really nice right about now.

Then he thinks about how the boy used to look at him, less than a year ago. How his eyes were filled with something like revulsion. How he pitied him, and resented him, and maybe even hated him, but certainly didn't love him. No, he can't go back to that. He never thought he would experience this again - Steven looking at him with trusting, open eyes.

Perhaps not that complete adoration like there used to be, but something almost better. Understanding. When Steven looks at him, it's like he understands the core of him. Everything that makes up who he is. He sees all of it, and he loves him because of it, not in spite of it.

"I just want to talk to him, Amy."

"I'm sure you can catch him on his mobile later."

"Will he pick up?"

She hesitates.

"Yeah, I thought not. Please," he implores, hoping that a part of her likes him enough to do this one thing.

"I told you, he's not even here."

He sighs, and looks behind her to the hallway.

What was it he said to Cheryl? Nothing is ever easy.

"Steven!" He calls loudly. He sees Amy stiffen, frowning.

He ignores her, and listens, but hears nothing. No sounds of children playing or laughing. No Steven.

"Steven!" He tries again. "I'm...I'm sorry, okay? I'm sorry that I'm such a...bastard sometimes."

He can't quite believe he's saying this, and in front of Amy of all people. But Cheryl was right. Some things are worth it.

"Sometimes I find it...hard. It's all happening so quickly, you know? It was okay before, when I had nothing to lose. But now I have everything, and if I lose it because I screw up...sometimes it's easier not to try at all."

Silence.

"But I want to. Try, I mean. Please Steven. Just...let me in."

Amy's eyes are on him, and he knows what she must think, the questions she must have. Has Steven told her exactly whats happened, or is she like Cheryl, and thinks that he's hit him again too?

But she doesn't seem angry enough for that. Perhaps she just realises that he's messed up. Again.

He was sure that Steven was inside the flat. He sensed it, in a way he doesn't entirely understand. He wonders whether he'd sense Steven in a different country, in a different continent, if he was altered by time and age and distance. Something tells him he would, because no part of him could ever not be aware of the boy's existence, of how he is a live wire of possibility and hope.

But perhaps it has been severed now, by one stupid, pointless argument.

It is just him and Amy, and no movement from inside.

Brendan turns away and then he hears it. A single word, spoken shakily but determinedly.

"Stop."

Brendan turns back to face the door, and sees Steven standing in the hallway behind Amy, his eyes rimmed with red, his hair untidy, fidgeting with his hands nervously.

He has been crying because of him, and the thought makes Brendan want to die.

"Come in, Bren."

That familiar nickname on his lips, almost like nothings happened. Except Amy's still staring at him like he's an insect in a jar. Steven looks at her as she keeps her eyes firmly on Brendan.

"Amy, could you give us some space, please?"

She looks at him, affronted. "Ste!"

"Just for half an hour."

Half an hour? Is that all it's going to take? What does he plan to do - break up with him, and throw him out? Pretend like the last few months never happened, that Ireland never happened, that all their promises to each other was some sort of game? A fantasy.

"Ste, I don't think this is a good idea."

"We need to talk, okay? Just...please. Trust me."

"I trust you. It's him I don't trust," she says, turning back to Brendan.

"Thanks, Amy. Your confidence in me is touching, really."

She doesn't seem to appreciate his vain attempt to break the ice, to somehow make light of a situation which he feels is increasingly spiralling out of control.

"If you need anything call me, yeah? I'lll be back soon."

Steven nods at her, and after a final disparaging glance at Brendan, she reluctantly walks away from the flat.

Steven watches her go, looking like he's not as confident of his decision now that he sees her retreating figure.

Brendan takes a step closer to him. "Am I allowed to come in, or...?"

Steven walks back into the flat, and Brendan takes that as a yes. He guesses from the absence of Leah and Lucas that they're with Dodger or Michaela, and is grateful for it. He doesn't want them to see their father like this, wiping the last remains of his tears.

Brendan perches on the head of the sofa, as Steven faces away from him.

"Shouldn't you be at the club?" Steven sniffs.

"Cheryl said I could take the night off."

"Joel will love that. Being in charge."

"I don't care what Joel wants, Steven. I told you, he can take the whole thing if he wants it badly enough."

"You don't mean that."

"Don't I?"

"No. You love that place."

"I used to. But what is it now? A building. A job. Someone else's idea of a good time. When I imagine my future, I don't picture Chez Chez."

Steven speaks quietly. "What do you picture? When you think about your future?"

Brendan picks at a loose thread on the sofa, tangling it in between his fingers.

"You know."

"No, I don't. We don't really talk about this stuff."

Brendan's mouth feels dry, and he wishes he could ask for water, or a cold beer, or something. Anything.

"Just...things..."

Steven laughs, looking incredulous. "Things? What do you mean, things?"

Brendan shrugs his shoulders, but feels anything but nonchalant.

"A house. My kids near me. Cheryl. Money. The usual."

Why does he feel like he said the wrong answer?

"Is that it?"

Yes, that's it.

With one thing missing. The most important thing. The one that's still the hardest to admit to wanting.

"No."

Steven looks at him, and Brendan thinks he can can see a trace of hope in his eyes.

"I want..." It feels like he's choking on the words. "Other things."

"Like?"

Brendan exhales. "Come on Steven, you know what."

"I want to hear you say it. To admit that this is real."

"Of course it's real!"

"Is it?"

Steven stands up, holding his arms around himself defensively.

"Sometimes it feels so real. Like you're right here with me in all of it. Every step of the way. And other times...you look at me like you're not really seeing me at all. Like today, at your place. The minute I mentioned moving in together, you shut down on me. And I know it shouldn't matter. That it's your choice, that you're allowed to not want that. But..."

His eyes alight with every emotion, undiluted sadness and disappointment.

"I want you to want to live with me."

They're back at that place again. Where what Brendan says has the ability to make or break them. No second chances to say this right.

"Do you want the truth, Steven?"

Steven looks worried for a second, but then nods.

"I'm still not okay with this."

Steven's face drops. Brendan picks harder at the thread in his hands.

"You and me, it's not something that I ever imagined I'd be doing. With anyone. I kind of just thought that life would happen, and I'd go on doing what I was doing -"

"Sleeping with men?" Steven interjects.

"Yeah," Brendan grunts. "And it wouldn't mean anything. Then...you happened. And everything changed. For a long time I kept it controlled."

He wonders if Steven is remembering exactly what his form of control consisted of.

"And it worked, if that's what you can call it. But then I lost you..."

Brendan's voice falters, and he tries to reign it in.

"It was like everything went black. And I swore to myself when I got you back that I'd never lose you again. But I'm going to need a bit of help, Steven."

Steven looks startled, staring at Brendan in mystification.

"Help?" He repeats the word like he's never heard it before.

Brendan nods once.

"You're asking me for help?"

"Yeah." He clears his throat. "Yes."

Steven smiles tentatively. "You know, I always wanted...I used to hope that one day you would do that. Trust me enough to do that. What do you want help with?"

Brendan steels himself for the words he knows will change it all. Funny, how just a simple sentence can alter the entire course of your life. He's not sure if he could take it back, and even less sure if he'll want to.

"I want us to move in together. Get our own place. But I want you to understand that it's going to be hard. For me. Doing that."

Steven's smile is so bright that Brendan couldn't look away even if he tried. His cheeks are flushed, and he is sitting up, straight and tall on the sofa, his eyes vibrant, no residue of tears left behind.

"You...want to live with me?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious? Bren, you're not just saying this because of what I said, are you?"

"No, Steven." And he realises he isn't. "When you're not around, I miss you. I miss you being there, making the place..."

"What?" Steven asks.

"Just...better. You make it better. I'm not asking because of some obligation, or only because I know it's what you want. I'm asking because...it's also what I want."

Steven looks at him, and Brendan could swear it is in wonderment.

"I love you. You know that?"

Brendan used to dread hearing those words. Now they are like a source of comfort, enveloping him.

"Yeah. I know."

But he doesn't want Steven to stop telling him.

Steven moves towards him on the sofa, and Brendan lets go of the thread he was holding.

Steven puts a hand on his arm.

"Amy shouldn't be back for a while."

"You gave her half an hour, remember?"

Brendan knew time would go against them somehow.

"She's probably peering through the window as we speak."

"She's just looking out for me! And anyway..." Steven lightly strokes a finger along Brendan's skin, and he feels his hair stand on end at the movement.

"She hasn't got her key."

Brendan stifles a laugh. "Are you suggesting we leave the mother of your children outside in the cold?"

"No," Steven says, but Brendan's satisfied to hear that even he doesn't sound entirely sure.

Amy has always been the one person in Steven's life who Brendan hasn't managed to force away. He likes knowing that he's capable of being his first choice.

"Imagine when we get our own place."

Steven grins as he kisses Brendan's neck.

"We'll be able to do it whenever we want," he whispers, licking up Brendan's jaw.

"Yeah." Brendan feels his eyes fluttering closed under Steven's actions.

He used to pride himself on being some sort of teacher to the boy, of showing him all he would need to know. He's starting to think he need not have bothered, that Steven's picked up a whole range of his own techniques.

"In the bedroom," Steven murmurs between kisses. "The sofa. The shower. The carpet."

He helps himself out of his jeans after watching Brendan struggle with the buckle. Brendan watches as his legs are revealed, lithe and as gloriously hairy as always. He has the strong desire to run his tongue along every inch of them. But they don't have time for such languid explorations.

One day, though.

_I made it happen. We're going to live together. I did something right. I still have him here next to me, kissing me. He didn't go anywhere, and I'm starting to forget what it's like to lose._

Steven tries to unzip Brendan's trousers, but he stops him, knowing they don't have long. He kisses the boy, feeling as his moustache rubs against his upper lip, creating the most wonderful friction.

"Turn over."

Steven does so immediately, eagerly, and Brendan holds out a pillow for him to prop his stomach on. He roughly shoves down his boxer shorts, revealing Steven's rounded arse. Brendan leans forward and gives a soft kiss in its centre, over where the cheeks come together.

He hears Steven giggle like he always does when he feels his moustache prickling against his bare skin. Brendan knows that soon his laughter will be replaced by entirely different noises, noises which he has produced, which he is certain only he has ever heard.

Brendan parts his cheeks, exposing Steven's entrance. The boy can feel it coming, and his breathing becomes laboured. Brendan licks a stripe down Steven's arse, close to his hole but not touching it, and the boy bucks in his hands.

Brendan runs his fingers over Steven's back, cool fingers which give him a form of relief from the heat spreading through him. He looks delicious like this, smooth golden skin beginning to glisten over with sweat. And that perfect arse, exposed to him, pushing back against his hands, willing for him to explore.

When Brendan runs his tongue over Steven's entrance, the boy tenses like he always does at first, adjusting to the exquisite feeling. Then Brendan sees his body slowly relax, and slacken, and open up to him, like a silent plea to continue.

Brendan reacquaints himself with the taste of him, although he doesn't think he could ever forget. Every taste and sight and sound and smell is memorised, traced with his mouth and eyes and ears and nose, until he is sure that he will remember everything about Steven till the day he dies.

Brendan wets Steven's entrance, listening as the boy calls out his name in panting gasps.

He is warmed by the feeling that today he did something that has made him less afraid. He said those words, and the world didn't end.

Something started instead.

_**10th October, 2014**_

"She's coming, she's coming!" Michaela shouts out excitedly, running through the crowd like a hyperactive child.

Brendan chews his gum, hands in his pockets, bouncing on the soles of his feet.

The Savages are next to him, Will eyeing him somewhat fearfully. The village may have forgiven him, but it still lingers in Brendan's mind, the visits to Silas, stealing Lynsey's ring. Some things aren't so easy to forget. But he's been instructed to be on his best behaviour, Steven checking up on him every so often, just to make sure a punch up hasn't happened, Brendan presumes.

All day he has resisted the urge to stand on the Chez Chez balcony and look down at Carter and Hay, seeing if he can catch a glimpse of Steven and Douglas inside, preparing. He knew it was useless, that they'd be in the back in the kitchens, getting everything ready for Amy and Dodger's engagement party.

But he kept on being drawn back to that same spot, arching his neck, fruitlessly trying to see something, anything. Them laughing together, perhaps. Leaning in close, closer than Brendan ever thought they needed to be.

Every day he has to remind himself that he can't send Douglas far away in a black cab, replacing the 'Carter' of the business with 'Brady'. He knows how much the deli means to Steven. In the two years since its been open its established a steady stream of loyal customers, Brendan being one of them. He has to admit, the food's fantastic. He should have known that he couldn't keep the boy at the club forever, not with his talents.

Brendan surveys the food in front of him, spread out on the table enticingly. His hand reaches forwards, only to be batted away.

"Cheryl!"

"Wait for Amy and Dodger to get here."

"I don't see why I have to be here anyway."

She rolls her eyes at him. "You know why."

Brendan's eyes roam to the boy milling about the guests, asking them to be quiet now they're about to be joined by the 'special guests.'

Strange, how once Steven was uncomfortable in these kind of situations. Friendly, yes. Talkative, always. But unsure of himself, of what he was saying. All that has been replaced by a confidence, a belief in himself.

It is a turn on, if Brendan's honest.

"Shhh!" Steven says, and everyone in the club goes quiet, Liberty looking like she might burst with the effort to do so.

Leah and Lucas are being as good as gold, Douglas standing beside them, and arm around both. Brendan suppresses a desire to march over to him and remove them from his presence immediately.

They all hear the sound of the door being opened from downstairs, and footsteps ascending the stairs. Michaela bites down on her lip to stop from laughing.

"Mark, are you going to tell me what we're -"

"Surprise!"

They all shout it, some more enthusiastically than others. Cheryl elbows Brendan in the arm when seeing that he belongs to the 'others' category, and he pastes on a smile reluctantly. Amy's shock changes into delight as she reads the 'happy engagement' banner that Leah and Lucas helped to decorate, and she bundles the kids into her arms, Steven following and holding her tightly.

The Savages congratulate Dodger, and the drinks start flowing, Dodger telling everyone to help themselves to champagne and food. Brendan stands back from the crowd, discarding his gum for a sausage roll from the buffet, made from scratch by Carter and Hay.

Cheryl motions to Joel who's on the decks, and music fills the club, setting the mood. He sees Steven's eyes searching the room, until they settle on Brendan. He smiles, nodding his head over, motioning for him to join them.

Brendan grabs another sausage roll, because he needs something to keep him occupied while he's making small talk. He walks through the party to reach Amy, Dodger and Steven. Steven swings an arm loosely around Brendan's back.

It feels...nice. Familiar. Reassuring.

"Congratulations, you two," he says stiffly.

Dodger's answering smile is wide, but Amy's is tight lipped, but present. That's something at least.

"Look at the ring, Bren. It's massive!" Steven says in awe, and holds up Amy's hand to show him.

It's better than Brendan would have expected from a Savage, especially Dodger of all people. A single diamond, perhaps not as large as Steven's making out, but impressive all the same.

"Nice," he acknowledges. "Very nice."

"Here, let me get you some champagne. Dodger, will you help me bring it over?"

They leave, and Brendan and Amy's eyes follow them, as if begging them to stay. But they are gone, and Brendan can think of nothing substantial to say.

He remembers his own engagement party, when he and Eileen could barely afford to get a cake. It didn't matter though. Stuff like that doesn't matter, does it? But he had known back then. He hadn't felt like he ought to have done when preparing to marry her. That happiness he was waiting for hadn't come.

"You make a good couple."

Amy stares at him in surprise. "What?"

"You and Mark. You look happy."

She blinks. "Yeah. Yeah, we are." Her smile grows fractionally wider. "Thanks Brendan. Thanks for...all of this. Letting us use the club."

"Well, it's Joel's club too."

"Come on, we both know whatever you say goes," she says with a trace of humour. "I know it must have been hard. Seeing Doug and Ste working together."

Brendan tenses. They stand there in silence, Brendan wondering how long it could possibly take to fill four glasses with champagne.

"You know we're never going to be friends, Brendan."

Brendan stares at Amy, taken aback by her honesty. He tries to compose himself.

"Because you hate me?" He asks, trying to make his voice light.

"I don't...hate you. I actually liked you, once."

It feels like a million years ago now. The first time he ever met her, her skin like a porcelain doll's, her manner slightly timid. Asking where Steven was, and he could hardly believe that the boy had managed to sleep with someone so unlike him in every way.

Yeah, she had liked him then. Had liked him enough to want to come to Barcelona with him on a drugs deal, before he had taken Carmel. Liked him enough to make him a cup of tea, and hug him when she found out that Steven was with someone so 'nice'.

Brendan knows he's the one who ruined that, not her, despite blaming her multiple times for messing everything up, for coming between him and Steven.

"I know," he murmurs. "I kind of liked you too. In a weird way."

She laughs. "I just want us to get along, for Ste's sake. As much as we can. I mean, its been almost two years now. I used to feel like I was waiting for you to screw it all up, to hurt him again. But I don't think that anymore. I know you want to take care of him."

"Right, here you go!" Steven and Dodger come over to them, holding out two glasses.

"Sorry about the wait. Michaela started crying on my shoulder, going on about being the last one out of our group still single."

He stares anxiously at Brendan.

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine," he answers truthfully.

He takes a sip of the champagne. It's the posh stuff, and he'd rather some whiskey, and he guesses that Steven would rather a beer from the way he's wincing from the taste.

Brendan looks around the party as he drinks. He watches as Douglas sits at a table with Riley, looking at his phone. Not once does he glance over at them, and for that Brendan is grateful.

He wonders what his life's like these days. Whether he's seeing someone new, or whether he spends every day wishing he still had Steven.

He knows that if things were reversed, he couldn't do that. Work alongside Steven everyday, watching him with another man. When Steven had been with Rae and Noah in the past, Brendan had concentrated all his efforts on trying to engineer a way to get him back. But to have no hope, no way of being with him again, and to still have to see him everyday...it was more than he could handle.

"Okay everyone, I want to make a toast!" Dodger calls out, and the guests stop talking among themselves.

"Oh God." Amy blushes, and Steven puts an arm around her affectionately.

"I just want to say thanks for coming. I'm glad that most of the people we love can be with us today. And for the ones who aren't...we miss them."

Brendan looks over at Cheryl, and they smile. Lynsey loved occasions like this.

"I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with Amy."

She covers her reddening face with her hands, giggling.

"I remember when I first met her. It was at a skatepark, so not the most glamourous place."

The guests laugh good naturedly.

"But I knew that there was something different about her. Special. No one thought it could work. They all said that I'd mess it up, because of my past. I didn't exactly have a good reputation. And yeah, I made some mistakes along the way. But I think that's what love is. Accepting someone despite that. Flaws and everything. And...forgiving someone. Like Amy forgave me, for not always being who I should of been in the beginning."

Dodger extends his hand to Amy, and she takes it in her own.

"But I know we'll be okay. No matter what. So to my beautiful fiance, Amy."

Everyone raises their glasses, and Brendan thinks he can hear Michaela sobbing somewhere in the corner.

Dodger and Amy kiss, looking like they've blocked out the rest of the word.

Brendan knows that feeling.

* * *

"How many sausage rolls have you had?" Steven enquires with a grin, sitting down beside Brendan on the black leather sofa.

"I think this may be my fifth."

"You like the way I make them, huh?"

"Okay, now you're just fishing for compliments."

"Maybe. And?"

"And, they're amazing."

Steven gives him a kiss, crumbs from the roll transferring and gathering on his lips. Brendan uses his fingertips to brush them away.

"How was everything with Douglas?"

Steven gives him a knowing look. "Fine. Just like a regular day at work."

"But it took more time than usual, didn't it? Planning everything."

Steven frowns. "We were just working, Bren. We made the food, came here, and that's the end of it, yeah?"

Steven wouldn't lie to him, he is sure of that. He knows that nothing happened. It is just the thought of them, together. He shakes himself out of it, not wanting to ruin the night.

"How are you, anyway? With Amy getting married?"

Steven looks down at his hands. "I'm alright, I guess. It's just hard. Saying goodbye."

"She's not going anywhere."

"I know, but it won't be the same. Dodger will be the kids step dad."

"I know what that's like," Brendan says, imagining Michael, who gets to spend more time with his children than he does.

Steven's silent for a moment, and Brendan almost wishes he hadn't asked, and opened up that pandora's box again. Then his eyes suddenly light up, a smile stretching across his face.

"What?"

"This song!" Steven stares at him excitedly.

Brendan vaguely recalls it. Some hit from years ago that they used to play in the club a lot. It seems to be popular, people moving to the dance floor.

"It's okay."

"Don't you remember?"

"Remember what?"

"This was the song that played here the night we first met."

Brendan stares at him in amazement. "You remember that?"

Steven smiles, looking mildly embarrassed.

"Do you...want to dance?"

That word. Dance. It's enough to invoke fear in him, turn his legs to a crumbling mess of jelly. He doesn't dance. Ever, not if he can help it. The only time Steven has seen him, he was with another man, in some gay bar that Noah had picked out. He'd like to avoid those particular memories as much as possible.

"Not really, Steven..."

His face falls, and Brendan can't stand it.

"You know me, I'm not any good at it. I'll just trip you up or something. That's if you don't trip yourself up," Brendan says, fondly recalling what he thinks of as Steven's 'monkey on acid' dance moves.

"I don't care. I don't care if you fall flat on your face."

"Oh, thanks."

"I just mean..." Steven looks at him with imploring eyes. "Please. I've never danced with you, and I've always wanted to."

Those eyes...they will be the death of him. He is unable to look away, unable to deny them anything. This boy has power over him that no one else has ever had.

"Okay," he speaks softly.

It is worth it, Brendan decides, just to see Steven's face. The joy there.

The song beats heavily in their ears.

_You want me to come over_

_I've got an excuse_

_Might be holding your hand_

_But I'm holding it loose_

_Go to talk then we choke_

_It's like our necks in a noose_

"I really can't dance."

"Then just put your arms around me or something."

Brendan does so, and Steven does the same, and they're swaying. Not particularly in time to the fast pace of the music, and they stumble a few times, but they're dancing.

"This feels nice," Steven murmurs, as if from far away, and Brendan would put money on his eyes being closed right now.

"It's been a good day, hasn't it?"

"Yeah." Brendan finds he doesn't have to lie. "It has."

"The speech was beautiful."

He feels himself holding Steven tighter.

"Do you agree with all that? What he said?"

Brendan sees some of Dodger's friends looking over at him and Steven, and whisper. He gives them his best 'fuck off' glare over his shoulder.

"About love?"

"Yeah, and about...you know...flaws and everything."

"Of course," Steven says, drawing back to stare at him. "When you love someone, you love all of them, don't you?"

"And..." Brendan can't believe he's actually asking this. "Forgiveness?"

"Why would you even...do you not think I forgive you?"

"No, I do. But why don't you want to get married, Steven?"

"What?" He stops dancing, his lips parted in shock. "What are you talking about?"

"When you found out about Amy and Dodger, you told me you don't ever want to get married."

"So? What's so wrong with that?"

"Nothing. I just don't think you decided that for the right reasons."

"I told you, my parents -"

"And I told you, you're not your parents."

Steven laughs, exasperated. "Why does this matter to you? Why bring it up now?"

"Because I saw you, Steven. I saw your face when Dodger was making that speech. I think you want that too."

"You don't need to get married to have those kind of speeches!"

"No, but are you honestly telling me that you wouldn't be happier if you had that kind of commitment? You told me you never wanted to marry Amy, but maybe that's because of what happened between you two. And how it reminded you of your own family. I don't want you to not want that with me because you think I'd hurt you like that again."

Steven's eyes widen. People must be staring at them, standing still in the middle of the floor like this, while everyone dances around them. But Brendan doesn't focus on them.

"Brendan...are you asking me to marry you?"

_Look into your eyes _

_Imagine life without you_

_And the love kickstarts again_

"Not exactly..."

"I don't get it then. What are you saying?"

Brendan swallows. He didn't plan this, but then nothing with Steven has ever been planned. He destroyed all Brendan's plans, making them into something new, something he had no idea he'd ever wanted to begin with.

Is there such a thing as being ready? Ready for adulthood, ready for the next step, for something that means all your old insecurities are forced to disappear? That you're choosing something else over them. Perhaps there's no such thing, but this time feels as good as any.

"I think we should...I don't know...get...rings."

The words sound abnormal in his mouth.

"Rings?" Steven echoes.

"Yeah."

"Wedding rings?"

"Yeah."

Steven looks at him like he's gone mad.

"Because I want us to be together. This whole civil ceremony thing, that's not us. But why should that stop us from being married in all but name?"

Steven's skin has flushed pink. "Are you serious?"

"Yes. So what do you say, Steven?"

He smiles at him, all honey coloured skin, thick eyelashes, reddened lips, and gentle, trusting eyes.

"Will you sort of marry me?"

_**Present Day - 2nd November, 2014**_

It is the kind of day where all you want to do is stay securely tucked underneath the covers, with a warm drink and an even warmer body beside you.

Instead Brendan is in a cold building, trying to keep warm in his office with his feet propped up on the desk, his coat still on, bending over paperwork. It is seven thirty, and he hasn't seen Steven all day. He has resisted the urge to call him, because he'd told him that they were getting increasingly busy at the deli, so much so that they are considering hiring additional staff.

The thought of seeing him at seven o'clock has been all thats kept him going for most of the day, as he's dealt with Mitzeee babbling about her latest photo shoot, asking his opinion regarding the best choice of underwear for her next one, despite the fact that it will be hidden by layers of fabric.

Brendan looks over at the clock. It's not like Steven to be late. He usually calls when he is. He tends to switch off his mobile when he's at work, and Brendan doesn't much fancy the idea of having an awkward exchange with Douglas if he happens to pick up.

He sighs in relief when he hears a noise from behind the door, the squeaking of footsteps. Standing up, Brendan moves forward and opens it, ready to see Steven's face.

Joel stands before him, his face red and blotchy, his eyes darting everywhere instead of directly at him. He looks like he is trying to contain the urge to be sick.

"Fucking hell Scottish Foxy, what's up with you?"

Joel visibly shakes.

"Whats happened? Joel? Is it Theresa?"

He senses that it's something more serious than a relationship drama.

"No," Joel chokes. "It's not Theresa. It's Ste. He's dead."


	8. Chapter 8 Walker

_**6th May, 2013**_

He comes out of the bathroom, and finds the bar empty. The cash register's all locked up, and he can't see any sign of Mitzeee or Rhys, when moments ago they were here. He knows that Joel must be still in the club, that he wouldn't risk not locking the place up properly, not with his desire to impress Brendan.

Walking towards the office, Walker stops when he hears voices. Loud, furious. One more than the other.

"What did I tell you about Steven, Joel?"

At the sound of the boy's name being spoken, Walker draws closer to the door, being careful to be as quiet as possible.

"Ste?" Joel sounds on edge, wary. Afraid.

Walker hardly breathes as he listens to the conversation. It doesn't take him long to grasp what Brendan's so angry about. A punch up between the boys, resulting in Ste getting a black eye. Walker tenses at the image of Ste's bruised skin, of it being inflicted at the hands of this lad that Brendan's invited into all their lives.

He never would have done that. If Ste was his, he would have sent Joel away.

Walker waits for the sound of the beating that he is sure will come. He knows that's how Brendan deals with everything, as though he believes he can punch his own hate out of a person.

But there is nothing. Just the sound of Brendan's harsh breathing, as though he's calming himself down.

It's not what Walker expects, and it disarms him.

He quickly moves back into the bathroom, staying there until he hears the sounds of Brendan's footsteps fading. Going back to the flat. Back to _him. _The thought makes Walker's blood run ice cold, and he stares at his reflection in the glass of the mirror in front of him.

In every smooth line of his face he sees a jagged edge. Broken, open skin. The wounds never heal. He brings his hands up to the glass, putting his fingers against it. He imagines it in fragments on the floor, blood clinging to his knuckles, dripping in a steady stream.

Every night when he goes to sleep, he sees one face only, following him wherever he goes. The boy's eyes light up with him in a way they never do when he's awake, and there is a kind of amazement there, a wonderment that he is with Walker. That he's safe now.

Sometimes Walker lays him down on the bed, and makes love to him. It is slow, sensual, beautiful, every thrust measured and deep.

Other times, if it is a nightmare, Ste will find Brendan, his hand holding his own, and Walker will be left behind, staring after their retreating figures.

There is a map of scars on Walker's stomach. Some have been there for years, something that his father would laugh at when he was fucking him.

Others are delicate, new and sore, born from hours spent imagining Ste never being his, and never having seen the good in him at all.

All that glass in front of him, capable of slicing his skin apart, of gutting out the heart of him.

But it is not time for that yet. There is still so much for him to do.

Joel walks over to the bar, and Walker watches as he slams a glass down on the surface, and pours himself some vodka, straight up. He winces as the sting of it trickles down his throat, his eyes red but determined.

"Had a bad night?"

Joel almost jumps out of his skin at Walker's words, turning pale.

"Fucking hell. What are you doing?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Helping yourself to Brendan's stock. Naughty boy."

"It's my stock." Back to sulking, just like that.

Walker gives a hollow laugh. "Come on, Joel. You and I both know that this business will always be Brendan's, till the day he dies."

"Just stay out of it, yeah? Who are you to tell me anything?"

Playing the hard man, yet again. He's got guts for a teenager, Walker will give him that. Unfortunately, all his energy is being focused in the wrong direction. He anchors himself to Brady like a ship that keeps him from drowning.

Walker pulls out a seat by the bar, and offers Joel the same. The lad sits down reluctantly, his anger at Brendan bigger than his distrust of Walker.

Walker pours himself a glass, but only takes a sip of the vodka, watching through dark eyes as Joel knocks it back in one clean motion. His figure gradually becomes more slumped, until his hand is unsteady on the glass.

"You could do better than this, you know."

"Better than what?"

"Chez Chez. Hollyoaks."

"What are you talking about?"

"I have...contacts. People I know abroad. I'm sure they wouldn't mind taking someone on."

Joel frowns. "Drug deals, you mean?"

Walker shrugs his shoulders, trying to act casual, like this doesn't matter to him either way.

"Perhaps. Among other things."

Joel scoffs. "No thanks."

"Oh yeah? And what have you got here that's so worth sticking around for?"

He doesn't think he imagines Joel pausing in hesitation before he answers.

"Theresa."

"What, blondie? She could come with you."

"And move away from her family? She'd never agree to it."

"What, never agree to moving near a beach, where she can walk about in a bikini all day? Where her boyfriend's making more money than she could dream of?"

He sees the lad considering it. It's that girl. It looks like Brendan isn't the only one ruled by a pretty face and an able body.

Push enough buttons, and you'll always find out what someones weakness is.

"I don't know...there are other things here for me."

Walker laughs. If the lad honestly thinks he's indispensable to Brendan, then he's more of a fool than he'd originally thought.

"Like your precious father?"

Joel tenses. Walker knows he shouldn't push it, that he doesn't necessarily need Joel in all this. But he put himself in the firing line the minute he hurt Ste.

"My dad's not coming back. He's in prison."

"I didn't mean that dad."

Walker moves closer to him.

"He's never, ever going to accept you, Joel. You think that one day Brendan will tell you that he actually gives a shit abut you? He only let you live with him because of Cheryl, because of what she would have said if he'd let you rot on the streets. And look at what happened - the first chance he got, he moved out. In with a guy you hate, who will always hate you. You think Brendan gives a fuck whether you live or die? Joel, he will always choose Ste over you. He will always win, and you will always lose."

The boy looks close to tears. The vodka has done nothing to distill his pain. He looks impossibly small, and impossibly lost. A little boy, who Walker could stamp out like a bug.

Then he speaks, and it comes out like a whisper.

"Sometimes I wish he was dead. Ste."

"That can't happen. Unless..."

"Unless what?" Joel clings to that word like it is his raft.

Walker wonders if he fully comprehends what he's getting himself into here. If he realises that this is not a drunken exchange, but something which will last beyond the inevitable hangover.

Walker tries to keep a smile from gracing his lips.

"Unless you do something for me. And I'll make sure that Brendan will never hurt you again."

Joel swallows. "What is it?"

Walker allows himself to smile.

"You'll find out. One day."

_**1st November, 2014**_

He thinks if someone were to rip out his heart, it would be black at the core. That his lungs are always struggling for breaths, because no breath feels worth taking.

Yet a boy, a single, perfect boy, has made the black fade from the edges. His smile renders Walker paralysed, trapped in time by his light, the way he looks at him like he sees him, when for so long Waller has felt like an invisible being, someone who would be locked away even from the gates of hell.

He wants to shelter Ste, to shield him from every slight and fist, from the moments he spends in the darkness, all alone. But he knows pain like that never fades away, that Brendan has already stolen so much of the boy's innocence and freedom.

It wasn't meant to be like this. Ste was an obstruction at first, a thing in Brady's path that he came back to time and time again, like he was his oxygen.

Walker recognised the appeal of him immediately. He is skinny, and gangly, but his features are almost feminine in their beauty, distinctive and sculptured.

He isn't a religious man, but he knows that if God does exist, then he crafted Ste himself, with such love and care that no one could meet him and not want to give up their life for him.

Walker knows that this is the price he has to pay. His own death, for Ste's life. The only way Ste will be able to truly breathe is if he's in the ground, protected from Brendan. He has seen the way the boy relies on him, and waited for three years for him. He looks at Brendan like he can't envisage a future without him.

Walker understands it. Brendan is older, and from what he's found out, Ste doesn't have a father. Not one who stuck around.

He was the same, once. Looking for approval from a man. Looking for something that he would never receive in return, although his father would speak those words after he fucked him, and Walker lay on the floor, his cheek against the carpet.

"_I only do these things because I love you. You know that, right?"_

He wonders how many times Brendan has raped Ste. The boy's screams fill his empty flat, and trying to muffle his ears with his hands only seems to make them louder.

Ste hasn't yet learned how to escape. It's his job to show him how, through the only form of escape Walker knows is permanent.

He has everything ready. The gun. Enough bullets if his aim doesn't reach his target, due to his already shaking hands. He has rope to tie the boy up if things get...difficult. He hopes it won't come to that. The idea of Ste struggling, his skin being burned red and raw from the friction, brings hot tears to Walker's eyes. It has been years since he cried, but Ste has him feeling every unwanted emotion like he is experiencing it for the very first time.

He expects for Ste to fight for his life. He is a determined, resilient little fucker, and Walker doesn't imagine him going down silently. Walker recognises this. It is something that humans do, clinging to their lives like it is something precious, when the alternative would make them so much happier.

He knows what he has to do now. The next step is to get Theresa. It is not hard. He parks his car outside the alleyway, and waits as she makes her usual walk to Joel's flat.

She should know better, a girl like her. Long blonde hair. Towering heels. Short skirt. She is an easy target.

Walker has her bundled in the back of his car in less than a minute, using his strong hands to hold her down. He tapes her mouth closed, ties her hands behind her back, and her feet together.

She doesn't give up, he'll say that for her. She writhes and moans, but as they approach his flat, she seems to slack, her eyes wide and terrified as she stares at him.

While he's in the car, Walker sends two texts. One to Joel, canceling his and Theresa's nightly plans that Walker has observed over the last few weeks. Then one to Michaela, telling her that Theresa will be staying at a friend's house overnight.

Their messages come back, Joel's with the smallest hint of annoyance, and Walker turns his attention back to his prisoner. It is pitch black outside, and he is as close to his flat as he could possibly be. His neighbours are the quiet kind, the sort who he barely hears a peep out of after nine o'clock.

But he knows that all it would take is one single sighting of him carrying Theresa's splayed, gagged form, and he'd be in a police cell in less than twenty four hours.

There's no delaying this though. He has to put everything in action as soon as possible, before someone starts to get suspicious.

With determined hands, Walker lifts Theresa out of the car, and walks as fast as he can, ignoring her attempts to wriggle in his arms. He is lucky she is so light and petite, weightless to him, his arms and back barely straining against her form.

On the third step to his flat, there is a creak, and his pulse quickens rapidly in panic. But he knows one moment of hesitation will cost him dearly, and he soldiers on, putting his prepared key through the door, and exhaling in relief when he gets to the safety of inside.

He lays Theresa down on the sofa, and stretches his muscles as he watches her squirm. Tears are rolling down her ashen face, causing her thickly clad mascara to build up under her eyes; black imprints that contrast with the barbie doll persona that is usually present.

Walker puts some music on softly to drown out any noises that she makes by fruitlessly trying to rub against the sofa to alert an invisible savior to her captivity.

He starts collecting various equipment.

A bottle of water. A large bowl, and some toilet paper. A hastily prepared snack. He lays them in front of Theresa, and then bends to his knees to face her.

"You must be thirsty, after all that screaming you've tried to do."

She avoids his gaze, desperately trying to fight against the rope around her body. Walker watches in fascination. He wonders again where this desire for life can possibly come from. That need to fight back.

"Listen to me closely, because I'm only going to say this once. I'm going to take the tape off your mouth."

She stops struggling and finally meets his eyes, like she dares to hope.

"If you scream, then I will kill you. Understand?"

The sound of his own voice is the only thing that makes him feel brave. It is strong, determined. Detached.

Inside, his head pounds. He has an ache that extends far lower than his head. His whole face seems to feel it, throbbing like an explosion.

He wants to tell her he's sorry, but the words won't form, and saying them would be like he's admitting he's at fault.

"Do you understand?"

She nods, and Walker has never seen something that looks so like a refusal.

"Good. Now you're going to drink this." He holds up the water bottle. "And eat this." He motions to the plate of toast before him.

When he takes the tape off, he expects a scream, and he has a knife prepared in his pocket, ready for use against this.

What he doesn't tell Theresa is that he has no intention of using it. That is would render her useless to him, when he needs her for what's to come.

But he is surprised when there's silence. Not the terror he thought would be there.

Just a single question.

"Why?"

_**Present Day - 2nd November 2014**_

It's the boy's turn now.

This is the part Walker believed he would relish. Fucking over Brendan Brady's biggest weakness. Watching as the boy's fear is mapped across his face, apparent and delicious, a reminder to Brendan that he will always lose, that any control he had in this was just a foolish delusion.

This is meant to be about revenge, at whatever cost.

Walker never thought that cost would be to his heart.

He has fallen in love for the first time, and it now feels like a slow death, because he has to kill the thing he loves. The only thing which has provided any source of comfort and hope since the day his father first took it away.

He could cajole Ste to him by force, like with Theresa. The boy weighs as much as a feather. He knows the path he takes from his and Brendan's flat to the deli every morning. He has seen him walk it many times before, whistling some nameless tune on his way, checking his phone every now and then, smiling when he seems to read something that he likes, something which causes Walker's gut to twist uncomfortably, because he has not made that smile appear.

He imagines Ste's face if he were to bundle him away. How the openness, the calmness and serenity, would be replaced by a kind of terror.

He cannot bear to see the boy in distress. This is what this is all about. Not killing Brendan, but setting Ste free. Making sure he never is hurt again.

There is one person he hadn't factored into all this. Doug. Walker has barely ever spoken to the lad, and he has seemed to remain a shadow in Brendan and Ste's life ever since they got together, hovering over the precipice, but never getting close enough to become an overpowering presence.

But Walker realises that he still carries a torch for the boy. If it is not love, then it is still something. An overprotectiveness that goes beyond the mere realms of friendship. A desire for Ste's happiness. A dislike for Brendan, and a tensing of his muscles whenever Ste forgets to conceal their relationship, and lets slip any detail. A date they've shared. A joke Brendan's told. A quirk, an annoyance.

Walker finds himself relating to Doug in a way he never thought he would. He knows what it's like, being on the outside of Ste and Brendan. It's like being in the cold, away from the light, every attempt to share that closeness rejected.

Doug will notice Ste's absence. Their shared business means that Walker has to plan this carefully. A girl like Theresa could have many friends. She would be missed, but no suspicions would be aroused, not for a day or two.

Ste has a close circle. Walker has observed it carefully, leaving no detail unturned.

His life is his kids. Their mother. Cheryl is the sister he never had. Doug is someone he trusts, someone he throws ideas about the business around with.

And Brendan.

Brendan is careful to keep his phone with him as much as possible. Walker sees him clasping it at work, like it connects him to Ste while they are parted, as if merely touching it means he is in the room with him.

But even he lapses.

Walker has looked at it while Brendan stock takes, scrolling through the sent messages folder, finding it bursting with messages to 'Steven'.

Some are unsentimental. Quick, hurried, direct.

_Won't be home on time. Work's a nightmare._

No kisses, ever.

Others are personal, intimate.

_I'm still sore from last night. You were amazing._

Then there are the messages that seem to be written by an impostor.

_I miss you. Can't stop thinking about you._

Brendan will notice if Ste's gone. Walker sees that now, and it puts a dent in the plan. Even if it's for a few hours, he will notice.

They seem to always text each other at lunch time, when Ste must be able to turn on his phone. Then again towards the evening, when Ste tends to ask what he should make for dinner.

It is Ste's messages that affect Walker the most. There is nothing coy or detached about them. They are warm, brimming over with love and need.

_We had a customer requesting a jam sandwich today. I thought of you ;) I was thinking we could get away soon, Bren. Maybe somewhere with the kids? Somewhere hot, so you can walk around in trunks all day..._

And always at the end, the thing that makes tears spring into Walker's eyes.

_I love you. xxx_

He can't understand it. How can Ste not see how wrong this is, how sick?

Does the boy think it's all he deserves?

Walker will make sure that nothing goes wrong. He can't let Ste go back to that life.

He encounters his first problem. He can't go into the deli. If Doug sees him with Ste, then it's over. Brendan will find out, and find him.

Instead, he makes a call.

Ste picks up, just like he'd hoped.

"Carter and Hay, Ste speaking."

"Brendan's in trouble."

There is a pause, and he wonders if Ste's heard him. Then it comes.

"What?" It's a tremble. Quiet.

It's important he gets this exactly right.

"Listen to me, Ste. You're with Doug?"

"Yes."

"Make sure you don't say anything important in front of him."

"What?"

"It's for Brendan, Ste. No one can know."

"I don't understand -"

"You will, okay? You just have to come to my flat. Now."

"But I -"

"No. Listen Ste. Don't call anyone. Tell Doug that you're feeling ill, and are taking the day off. Don't tell him that I called you. Can you do that for me?"

"Yes."

This is easier than he thought. All it depends on is the strength of Ste's love for Brendan.

Nothing elaborate. No fancy plan. Just feelings alone.

"See you soon."

Walker drops the phone, and waits.

He knows there are flaws in this. Doug is bound to have noticed how upset Ste is. He could make him tell him everything.

Ste could call Brendan, or come across him in the village.

But Walker is well aware of Brendan's past. The secrets he kept from Ste. The extent of the drug dealing, and his relationships with Danny and Warren.

He has relied on there being a part of Ste that still knows that Brendan is more prone to harm.

He doesn't know if he imagined the boy's lack of complete surprise at hearing that something could have happened to his husband.

Even if Ste does see Brendan, Walker wonders whether he would still come to him anyway.

Is there such a thing as complete trust?

The wait is a slow torture. A ticking of a clock. A sip of water to keep his throat from feeling uncomfortably dry. Making sure that Theresa is securely fastened to the banister of the bed, and that the door is locked. Checking the bullets in his gun. Enough for Ste. Enough for himself, although he is sure that Brendan will take care of that job for him.

He doesn't know what to feel, on his last day on earth.

This moment has been building for three years, but it feels like a lifetime. When he envisions Brendan's face, it does not have a moustache, or the blue eyes, or the same shaped mouth. It is more lined, more round, more like Walker's own.

Walker never got to kill his father. A heart attack got there first.

Funny, because he never knew he had a heart.

Killing Brendan will be the sweet release he never got.

He cannot pretend that he is sad to leave this life. He has grown tired of it. Exhausted. He is carrying around his bones, his empty carcass like a dead weight, and the time has come. He wants to feel that black, numb emptiness. For his brain to go blank, and for nothing to replace it.

Most of all, he just wants it all to stop.

When Ste knocks on the door at last, it is like the sound of his own death.

Walker rises from the sofa, and lets in the boy he loves.

Ste crashes through to the hall, his eyes vivid and red, his arms everywhere, protesting, passionate, fighting for Brendan's survival.

"What's happened? Is he okay? Why can't I tell anyone? Is he...has someone hurt him?"

So many questions. Is the boy never quiet, even in grief?

"Did you tell Doug that you're here?"

Ste shakes his head, confused. "No. You told me not to."

"Good. Well done."

"Well done? Walker, why am I here? What's happened to Brendan?"

"Sit down, Ste."

He looks suddenly furious. "I don't want to sit down! What the fuck is going on?"

"I'll tell you everything, I promise. Just sit down."

Ste looks like he wants to hit him. But he sits. Whilst his back is turned, Walker locks the door.

He then walks slowly to sit and face opposite Ste on the sofa.

The boy is near shaking. But somehow he still looks beautiful. Extraordinary.

"What?" Ste looks startled.

"Nothing."

"You just called me beautiful."

Did he say those words out loud? They are true, and honest. Perhaps he is tired of the lies.

He wants Ste to know that there is a man who loves him, who would do anything for him. He wants him to die knowing that he was wanted completely.

"I love you, Ste."

"Stop fucking around, Walker."

He thinks this is some kind of joke, with his love being the punchline.

"Why is Brendan in trouble?"

It's Walker's turn to want to laugh.

_Brendan_. Always about Brendan.

Even when he is not in the room, even when his physical self is not infecting him like poison, he is somehow all around.

"I don't want to talk about him," Walker says softly.

Ste looks at him, exasperated. "You asked me to come here!"

"And I just told you how I feel about you. Does that mean nothing to you?"

"I don't...I don't understand. You're messing with me, right?"

"I never wanted to...this wasn't part of it."

"Part of what?"

"The plan."

Neither was this. Being so honest with him.

"Walker...are you serious?"

"Deadly," he says, a smile flickering on his lips, before vanishing.

Ste leans back on the sofa, his mouth parted ever so slightly. It is cold outside, but he never brought a jacket. Walker imagines him rushing out of the deli, barely having time to hang the phone up, Doug being left startled in his wake.

"You love me?"

"Yes."

"But...you don't even know me." He says it almost apologetically.

"I know enough."

"What's enough? That I'm with Brendan? That I live with him? That I'm in love with him?"

"That you saw something in me."

Ste shakes his head slightly, like it will somehow help him to make sense of it all. Like he is dislodging the lies.

"What are you talking about?"

Walker remembers it vividly. The day he realised that he was trapped, that this was his path now, and to follow another one would be impossible.

"We were at Chez Chez. It was before we danced. You told me that people aren't always what they appear. You...you told me I was...nice."

The words don't sound enough for how they made Walker feel.

They sound pathetic, inadequate. Yet that day, words had never sounded so wonderful to him.

"Walker..."

Is that pity in Ste's voice? Because he doesn't want that.

"I didn't think anyone ever saw me, Ste. I mean, they looked, but they never saw. Not till you. You didn't treat me like I was nothing. You didn't beat me, or fear me, or taunt me. You smiled, like we shared our own private joke. You relaxed around me, and that allowed me to relax. You trusted me with parts of your life, however small they seemed to you. Your happiness made me want to be happy. And I forgot, for a little while."

"Forgot about what?" His voice is merely a croak now.

"About what he did to me."

"Brendan?"

"My father."

Walker can feel Ste's eyes on him, but suddenly he cannot meet his gaze. He looks down at the floor instead, even though he knows this is dangerous. Even though Ste could run, or hit him, or call Brendan, or find Theresa, and give the whole game away.

Something in Walker trusts that he won't.

"I think I was four, when it first happened."

It is hard to remember sometimes. The lines between fact and fiction, the blurred, scattered memories. Being pinned to the bed. A buckle being undone. His head being guided to suck something which he hadn't wanted to touch. Lips on his face. Unwanted lips. Rough kisses, which tasted of cigarette smoke.

And afterwards, the way he had ached. The feeling of being invaded, of being stretched when he wasn't ready.

Something being torn apart at the seams, and blood on the sheets.

And a complete lack of understanding. And yet a knowledge that it had been wrong.

"He hit you?"

"No."

He finally feels ready to say it.

"No. He raped me."

Perhaps he expected a sort of freedom to come from it, but if there is, it's an empty one.

It doesn't change anything, and it doesn't set him free.

It is just a cold hard fact, and saying it only makes it more true.

He is crying now, and it is unstoppable. Tears pool on his trousers, and he can barely see the outline of the room.

When he was five, he learnt to stop crying. It seemed easier that way, lying on his front while he waited for it to be over, his head against the pillow, muffling his screams.

Tears didn't help, and his mum didn't help, and God didn't help.

But he is crying for that child now. He imagines his adult self saving him, taking him away from it all. Trying to retain some of that innocence.

"I'm sorry."

The boy is still here, and sincerity pours out of him.

Why hasn't he left yet? Isn't that what people always do?

"You know now, Ste. You know now why I have to do this."

He forces himself to face the boy, to make him understand. He doesn't want him to hate him.

"Do what?" Fear is back in his eyes now.

First, Walker needs to explain why.

"He hurt you."

Comprehension dawns on Ste's face then.

"Brendan?"

He has never hated a name so much.

"Walker...that was a long time ago. A lots happened since then. We've both grown up. Brendan would never hurt me now."

He feels like spitting in blind rage. Not at the boy, but at what he fools himself to believe.

"So he's changed, has he?"

"Yes." Such conviction there.

"People like him don't change, Ste. He chose you because he knows he makes you weak. You love him - fine, I accept that. But he can't love. I knew that the first time I met him. Men like Brady don't understand it. They use the excuse of love to do things, things which fuck you up. But it is like air to him, air which he cannot see or feel."

"That's not true."

Walker had expected more of an argument. A denial, a protestation of words which try to prove Brendan's worth.

But the boy looks like he has had this particular conversation before, and it flies over him like an empty plastic bag.

"When did he first do it to you, Ste? Was it when you first met?"

Ste's brow creases in confusion. Perhaps he is good of concealing the truth. Walker is sure Amy doesn't know about this, or Cheryl. There's no way they would allow his relationship with Brendan to continue if they did.

Or are they like Ste himself? Believing that that kind of monster can become a man?

"Do you think...do you think Brendan raped me?"

He sounds convincingly appalled.

"It's okay. I know."

"Walker, Brendan would never! He would never do that to me."

He stands up, looking down at him.

"How could you even think that?"

This isn't how it was meant to be. Ste wasn't supposed to be angry with him.

"He did hit me, yes. But he never..."

"You're not ready to tell me yet -"

"Because it never happened!"

Ste stands over him, and his small frame suddenly seems overpowering.

"Brendan's not a rapist, Walker. He's not your dad."

Walker stands up and grabs the gun from his back pocket then. Ste stares at it in shock, then takes a step back, holding his hands before him in defense.

Walker ignores the shake of his hands, and tries to hold the gun more securely, his knuckles turning white as a result.

Ste has not returned his love.

He apologised, but it was not the apology he wanted to hear. It came from the wrong person.

And he has just told him that Brendan never raped him, without a hint of hesitation.

Walker wishes he could unknow all of it, because the peace that he expected to come is more vacant and distant than ever.

He needs to pull the trigger. He needs to end the suffering, but as his finger twitches against it, there is resistance.

He can't shoot.

He needs time to think, but he can't bear to continue looking at the boy.

"Hand me your phone."

Ste does so reluctantly, and Walker already sees that there is a message from Doug, no doubt checking up on him.

Walker didn't have that when he was a boy.

No one checked up on him.

He pockets Ste's phone.

"Start walking."

He motions for Ste to follow him to where he has concealed the remainder of the rope and tape that he had left over from Theresa.

Ste struggles more than she did when he ties him, but as Walker had guessed, the boy's slender body helps him in his task.

Walker doesn't focus on the eyes that stared at him with trust moments before. He avoids the lips which always curl so easily into a laugh. The hair which looks soft and strokeable.

This is not Ste. This is part of the plan. A means to a necessary end.

When Ste is restrained, Walker carries him to the bedroom. Theresa starts shouting through the tape settled around her mouth when she sees him, and Ste struggles even more in his arms.

Walker ties Ste to the opposite end of the bed, and then stands back, trying to regulate his breathing once more.

After making sure that neither of them can escape, he closes the door. It offers him a kind of momentary denial, and calms him enough to pick up his own phone, and start sending his message.

He attaches a photo he took earlier, of Theresa tied up. He made sure that it shows her very much alive, so Joel will do what he wants.

Then he presses send.

It takes less than a minute for the phone call to come through.

He registers the panicked Scottish tones.

"What have you done to her?"

Walker calmly explains. She will be fine, if Joel plays along. He is not lying. He has no interest in Theresa that extends further than him getting what he wants with Ste and Brendan.

She is an unfortunate casualty in this, but she will be released unharmed.

Joel is entirely predictable in his fury and fear.

He threatens to call the police. To tell Brendan.

"The police show up here, and I'll slit her throat. I'll kill her before they're even able to shoot. And you know I'll do it."

That silences the lad. This is why he had to take Theresa. A persons heart is always the most vulnerable. It is the key to everything.

What follows are those four magical words.

"What do you want?"

It sounds like a simple question, but it isn't. Walker wants a lot of things that he can never have, that were lost to him years ago.

It is up to him to take what he can get now, however miniscule and fleeting.

"I want you to do me a favour, Joel."

Walker wonders if the memory of him saying those words before is as clear in Joel's mind as it is in his own.

Joel offers to give him whatever he wants.

"I need you to tell Brendan that Ste's dead. And I need you to mean it."

Silence stretches before him. He wonders if he imagines the sharp intake of breath on the other line.

"Is he? Is he dead?"

The truth, or lies? Neither one will make much of a difference at this point.

"Tell him, Joel. Tell him that Ste's dead, and that he's in my flat. And remember, if you tell the police about this, she dies."

He cuts the line dead.

He is taking risks. He knows that. There are enough flaws to ruin it all, to render these last three years of waiting and planning useless.

But he is relying on love, for the first time in his life.

Joel's love for Theresa. Brendan's love for Ste, if it can be called that.

He knows Brendan will follow him here. That he won't think about the cops, or the right thing to do, or safety.

He will come here to kill Walker, and all Walker needs to do is ensure that Ste dies first.

That way, he will go to his grave knowing that Brendan Brady will be in hell, in whatever form.


	9. Chapter 9 Ste

_**5th April, 2013**_

They choose a place near the village. Close enough to the deli and the club, so they don't have to get out of bed until absolutely necessary. Yet Ste still finds himself late day after day, making excuses to Doug. His alarm clock didn't go off. He left something at home, and had to go back for it. He couldn't find his keys. Doug looks at him with skeptical eyes, but Ste knows this is preferential to telling him the truth.

_Er yeah, sorry about that. I was just shagging Brendan. He thinks we need to christen the entire place, make it our own._

It's strange to Ste at first. The quietness of their new flat together. He expects to hear the kids laughter, the sound of them playing. He wakes up every morning ready to be greeted by the familiar sight of the peeling wallpaper, the pile of dishes in the sink.

Instead, he is surrounded by warm, nude colours. New furniture, where the material hasn't yet been worn away by years of overuse. He has the bathroom to himself, free from Amy's make up cluttering the cabinets, or Joel's incessant banging on the door.

He is not startled by Brendan's presence in the bed beside him. That he is used to, and he wakes curled around him, his arm growing numb from being in one position for too long, but being reluctant to move it.

He has spent many such nights like this. But it's different now. He has the knowledge that it is just them, no interruptions. That this entire place is something they've selected together, from the location, to the decor, to who uses the wardrobe, and who takes the drawers.

He could sense Brendan's nervousness when the contract was signed, and they began to move their things in. There was a twitchiness in his movements, a strained smile on his face. Ste half wondered if he would have gone back in time if he could, and taken back the whole thing.

He knew that Amy could see it too. When she, Leah and Lucas came over to say goodbye, she had looked over at Brendan, who had remained standing in the corner, looking down at the floor. Her eyes had travelled over him before Ste tried to distract her, but he hadn't been able to miss the judgement in her eyes.

Yet somehow it didn't hurt as much as Ste had suspected. He had known it wasn't going to be easy. Brendan was never going to be the type to carry Ste through the threshold of the door, or throw some sort of celebration party. They had spent the first night in their new home together ordering take out, Ste's legs draped over Brendan's lap as they'd watched tv, Ste smiling stupidly every so often, when the reality of the situation struck him.

Every evening when Ste walks through the door, he steps with trepidation, waiting for the signs of Brendan's departure. His coat with the fur collar that he wears in winter to be gone from its hanging. His pointy black shoes to be removed from the carpet. The smell of him, that same brand of aftershave, to no longer fill his senses like a familiar, comforting sign of home.

But Brendan is always there. If not a physical presence, then reminders of him are scattered round the flat. When Ste comes back from his shift at Carter and Hay, he smiles at the unmade bed that still has the imprints of their warm bodies. He sees the pajamas that he'd laid out the night before, discarded by the side when Brendan had told him that he liked the feel of _him_, not cotton.

Every night, Brendan returns to him.

Every night, Ste becomes more certain that he always will.

* * *

A smile breaks across Ste's face.

"You did it."

"You asked, didn't you?" The Irish voice drawls.

The hair has taken even less time than Ste expected to grow. He has gradually felt the teasing prickle of Brendan's stubble on him increase day after day, until he resembles the man he remembers from after prison, minus the bruises, and that look in his eyes that told Ste that there was a distance between them, an anger that couldn't be resolved.

"Turn your face. I want to see."

Brendan rolls his eyes, but turns from left to right and back to the middle, giving Ste access to the full beard.

Ste has never been with a man with one before. Noah always shaved religiously. Full body waxing seemed to be some sort of requirement, to go alongside his job as a personal trainer. It had almost startled Ste at first. Noah's smooth, hairless chest, when he'd known Brendan's for so long, populated with dark, wiry hair.

Doug didn't bother with things like that, but perhaps that's because he had no need to. He was fair, and had light little hair down his treasure trail and around his groin.

Ste hadn't quite realised how much he'd missed that. Being with someone who was so...masculine. In every way. It felt right.

Ste reaches out a hand, and touches Brendan's chin. He brushes a finger against the stubble, and it creates a small razor like sensation, how Ste imagines his own hair feels when Brendan nuzzles his face against it.

Brendan keeps his eyes on him at all times, assessing his own reactions.

Ste's hand moves all round his face, gently cupping Brendan's cheek while his fingers explore and feel. Brendan closes his eyes for a moment, before they flicker open, and they are warm like lava, and the strongest blue Ste thinks he has ever seen.

They can't erase all those months spent away from each other. But this feels close to repairing the damage.

"It's nice," Ste says, although no words are needed. "Softer than I thought."

"So now you've seen it, does that mean I can get rid of the thing?"

"You only just grew it properly!"

Brendan fidgets in Ste's grasp.

"You don't like it?" Ste hears the shock in his own voice.

He can't believe that Brendan could find anything about himself less than perfect.

"It just reminds me..."

Ste kisses him then. It is something he wanted to do a year ago, when he first saw the thing, when Brendan came back into his life like an explosion. He hated him, and he wanted him gone, and he wanted the pain to stop.

_I want to kiss him, but I want to kill him._

He's not quite sure where that anger went, but it feels like a distant memory from another lifetime ago.

The rub against his skin is even more pronounced now. He feels the moustache against his upper lip, and the beard at the corners of his mouth. Brendan's lips are wet and willing, and Ste darts his tongue out to swipe against Brendan's mouth, before he grins, and allows himself to be drawn back towards him.

Brendan settles Ste down on the pillow, and climbs on top of him, Ste feeling the sound of his heartbeat against his chest.

Brendan lays his hand on top of Ste's as they kiss, and Ste interlinks his fingers with Brendan's. For a moment he thinks the intimacy of it will cause Brendan to pull away, but the heat of his touch remains, and the kiss deepens, the gentleness giving way to passion.

Brendan's lips move to his neck, nibbling and kissing, and Ste places his hand on the back of Brendan's head, stroking the soft skin there, encouraging Brendan to continue doing what he's doing, with the coaxing sound of his own voice.

Ste eases his fingers down Brendan's back, until they reach the waistband of his jogging bottoms. He loves Brendan like this, when he's lounging around in his grey sweats and white t-shirt, away from the sharp business suit that the rest of the world gets to see.

Brendan feels Ste's hands trying to maneuver the trousers down his legs, and breaks off to smile at the boy.

"Looking for something, Steven?"

Ste would usually make a comeback, accuse Brendan of teasing him. But he doesn't feel like it today.

"Give me it." Desire floods out of every pour.

"What?" Brendan asks, amusement in his eyes.

"You."

Brendan stops smiling then, and Ste feels like he's trying to see into his very soul when he looks at him.

"I'm yours already," Brendan says under his breath, and rakes his hand through Ste's hair, moving his hips so that his cock gyrates against Ste's pelvis between their clothes.

Ste is desperate to have him in him, to fill him completely. He has to stop himself from pawing at Brendan's chest erratically, and instead settles for enjoying the leftover feeling of the slight burn on his cheeks from Brendan's beard.

He wonders if his face is red all over, and if it's from the hair prickling against him, or his own arousal. It is not embarrassment. He got over that long ago.

It's just how he gets with Brendan. His body turns faintly pink all over. His tongue goes out to wet his lips, seemingly of its own accord. His pulse flutters in his neck. His breathing becomes a series of pants.

Any shyness is erased through Brendan's encouraging smile when he notices these reactions.

He wants it.

He wants Ste like this. _Just as he is._

The rub of their bodies against each other leaves them both wanting more. It is heady, irresistible.

Brendan rolls them over so Ste's on top, and makes a grab for his arse, smoothing his hands over it as he pulls him closer to him.

Ste giggles at Brendan's eagerness. Sometimes he thinks this is his favourite kind of sex. The morning variety, when Brendan's body is completely visible to him, not masked by the darkness or altered due to any artificial light. He'd wake up like this every morning if he could.

"Steven."

"Mmmm." Ste tries to recapture his lips, not wanting that contact to break.

"You're vibrating."

"What?" Ste asks, eyes wide.

"Your phone."

"Oh, right," he says gruffly, and slowly untangles himself from Brendan's hold.

He registers Doug's name flashing on his screen. A missed call from him that he must have got over the last few minutes. He didn't even notice. Amy often calls it his Brendan induced haze.

Ste stares at Brendan warily, waiting for the comment that will come. He can practically see the tick starting in his cheek.

"Sorry, I should check what this is."

He listens as he watches Brendan straightening his t-shirt that Ste had bundled around his stomach. Ste wishes he wouldn't do that. He was nowhere near finished.

The American accent fills his ears, altered by the unmistakable sounds of a cold.

"He's ill."

He doesn't think he imagines the slight look of triumph in Brendan's eyes. He knows what he's thinking: finally he gets to step inside those four walls and be like any other customer.

Ste begins to dial another number.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling Barney. He told me that he would help out if there were any shifts going."

Brendan surprises him by prising the phone out of his hands.

"What are you doing?" Ste reaches for it.

"Douglas definitely isn't coming in today?"

"No..."

Brendan smiles, and it's a smile that Ste doesn't entirely trust.

"Brendan. What are you planning?"

* * *

It feels weird, working together again. Perhaps it would be different if it was in Chez Chez, where everything first began. Ste often thinks that no matter how much time has elapsed since he worked behind the bar, it still feels like his home, like those times have never left him.

Seeing Brendan at the deli is a whole other experience. Lifting boxes of stock, and trying to get to grips with slicing up large rolls of bread, flour covering his long fingers, an apron looking out of place on his built, muscular body.

Ste would laugh, but it becomes less amusing when he's faced with a hoard of customers, and Brendan moves at a snail's pace.

"I really should just call Barney."

"Steven, you're getting my services for free. Isn't that better than having to pay some student just because Douglas is in bed with the man flu?"

"Brendan! He sounded really sick on the phone."

Brendan chops into a cucumber with particular vigour.

"This was a bad idea."

Brendan sighs, and takes Ste's hand under the table. He's disarmed by the gesture, aware that someone could see, and Brendan has full knowledge of this.

"Look, me and you both know that my talents don't lie in chopping up paninis. Why don't you do the food, and I take the orders?"

Ste has been avoiding this on purpose. He thought it far safer for Brendan to stay where he could see him, and where, if he was honest, he had the least contact with people as possible. The memory of Brendan eating another customer's panini in front of him, and then shoving it into his chest remains in the forefront of his mind.

"I'll be on my best behaviour, I promise," Brendan says, seemingly reading his mind.

"Okay. But be nice, yeah?"

"When am I not?"

He flashes Ste a dazzling smile over his shoulder that makes him feel weak at the knees.

As Ste begins working on the first few orders, he watches and listens to Brendan out of the corner of his eye.

He's a natural, and it's both entirely surprising and predictable.

Ste remembers the same way Brendan charmed him, how all he would have to do was lower his voice and stare into his eyes, and he would be left feeling like he was king of the world.

He stills for a moment when a customer complains to Brendan about the wait, but Brendan merely aplogisies, and begins to chatter away aimlessly, distracting the woman like he was born to do it.

Soon the gaggle of people fades away, and Ste takes a moment to sit down on the seats that overlook the window. He pats the seat beside him, motioning for Brendan to join him.

He can't resist another feel of the beard, kissing the side of Brendan's cheek to get the full impact of it.

"You going to make me keep this thing?"

"Maybe."

He still hasn't experienced the feel of it on other areas.

"I've already had Jacqui McQueen tell me I look like a hermit."

Ste laughs. "My hermit."

They settle back onto the couch, and Ste enjoys the silence after the bustle of the previous hour.

Silences with Brendan feel natural, relaxed. There is no need to fill in the gaps with pointless conversation. He doesn't feel boring, or self conscious. He is just allowed space to be.

Ste settles into the crook of his elbow.

He knows that separating his personal and professional life is essential. That it would only cause Doug pain to see Brendan here, at the business they created together. That it would only cause Brendan unnecessary worry to see them laughing and joking together, like the friends they are.

But sometimes he misses the closeness of Chez Chez, and he thinks of how better his day at Carter and Hay would be if he received a certain visitor.

Sometimes he misses Brendan so much that it scares the life out of him, even more so when the time and distance is so little.

He may look out of place in the deli, but he feels completely right sat beside him.

"Thanks for your help today, Bren."

He feels lips on his hair.

"You can pay me with lunch."

"Cheeky git. I should of known. I bet you only agreed to help me for a ham and cheese panini, didn't you?

"Actually Steven, I'm in more of a jam sandwich mood. Seed -"

"I know."

He rises from the sofa to go into the kitchen and get the jar he keeps just for Brendan. Jam sandwiches aren't exactly part of his and Doug's deli menu, and they'd never have the jar at all it hadn't been for the day a year ago now.

Ste keeps the jar out of eye access, and right at the back of the cupboard. He's sure he's being silly, but he doesn't want Doug to see it.

He takes out some bread and spreads the jam just like Brendan likes it, thick and generously, so that it pools over the sides when he places the slices of bread on top of each other.

He can practically see Brendan salivate when he brings the plate through.

"Here you go."

His lips part around the sandwich, and Ste can't help but watch as jam and crumbs settle around Brendan's mouth.

The perverted nature of his own viewing strikes him, and he tries to look away, but Brendan's tongue coils out in front of him, and he sees that any attempt to pretend he's not interested is futile.

"You're doing this on purpose."

It's like a slow torture.

Brendan offers Ste some of the sandwich, and Ste nibbles it from his outstretched hand, licking the stickiness off Brendan's finger.

He tries to eat more, but Brendan eats it before he can access to it, and grins at Ste, red sweetness around his mouth.

"You look..."

"What?" Brendan asks, suddenly wary by the intensity of Ste's gaze.

"Happy."

Brendan's look turns somber.

"Maybe I spoke too soon," Ste jokes, although he feels unsettled, like the sunshine has just gone down.

Brendan puts the plate on the side. He's not one to ignore food, so Ste knows whatever's coming must be serious.

"No, I am...happy."

Ste can't help but laugh slightly at his complete lack of joy at saying this.

"I am," Brendan says, holding his gaze. "It's just...strange."

"Why?"

He swallows, and does that thing where he massages his temples, as though pressure is building in his brain.

"Because I never thought I'd be happy."

Ste reaches out a hand and removes Brendan's own, smoothing out the creases on his brow.

Sometimes he thinks Brendan has been carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders his whole life, and it's time for him to take some of the load.

It had been his wish for years, ever since Brendan had kissed him for the first time in that cellar.

He'd told him once.

_I want us to have a proper relationship, you know? Where we just be there for each other. Share things._

He'd watched at the time as Brendan had squirmed uncomfortably, staring around at the gay bar he'd taken him to like it was something alien, terrifying.

Then a hasty dash to the bathrooms, before which he'd placed a hand over Ste's.

Ste had felt the touch linger afterwards, even when Brendan was already on his way to Ireland, having climbed out of the bathroom window.

This time, he doesn't have to imagine how it would feel to have Brendan's touch still on him. He knows Brendan's not one for public displays of affection or sentimentality, but Ste can't resist interlocking their fingers together, and seeing how Brendan's hand swallows his own.

He wants to tell him all kinds of things. How despite their first two years, this last one has been the best of Ste's life. How Brendan is his first love, and he wants him to be his last.

"What are you thinking about?"

He can hear the sounds of Brendan's words echoing in his chest as Ste lies against it.

"Nothing."

"You looked a million miles away."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Brendan looks at him and smiles. The reference is not lost on him.

"Mmm. Now what do you say to you helping me get this ridiculous beard off my face?"

_**11th October, 2014**_

They don't make it home until the early hours of the morning after Amy and Dodger's engagement party. While the rest of the guests leave at varying times, Ste stays till the end, minding the kids while the wine flows and the congratulations never seem to end.

Brendan mainly sticks by his side, occasionally being led over to the rest of the crowd on Cheryl's insistence.

Ste senses his relief when the night finally comes to a close, and he is transparent in his eagerness to clean up Chez Chez as quick as possible.

Ste kisses Amy goodbye, and despite her age and the momentous milestone that they have just celebrated, she is still so much the child that Ste first met all those years ago.

He almost reveals all about his and Brendan's own news to her, but he wants this to be her moment.

And he is not quite sure how he would explain it.

"_Me and Brendan are engaged. Well, not exactly engaged. We're...we're going to buy rings. We're not going to have one of those civil partnerships though. We're just...we're..."_

_We're going to be together until the day we die. _

Would that be the best way to put it? It is not something that he has doubted since they became a couple, but somehow this makes it more official.

He is Brendan Brady's husband.

Sort of.

Ste's excitement is palpable when he arrives back at the flat. He is practically bouncing off the walls, as light as air.

Brendan regards him with amusement as Ste rolls his gangly body on the bed, not the least bit tired, despite the day's events.

"What rings are we going to get, Bren?"

The thought of Brendan wearing a ring makes him want to giggle. The only item of jewellery that he's ever worn has been some cuffs that he discarded long ago, and the silver cross that always remains a part of him.

He's not the type to wear anything elaborate or fancy, and neither is Ste.

"What rings do you want to get?'

He is pleased that Brendan sounds just as enthused as he is.

"I don't know. Nothing too showy. Maybe something plain? Simple."

Brendan crawls on the bed towards him, and kisses him.

"Simple sounds good."

Ste can't help but laugh. Brendan pulls back.

"Something funny, Steven? I'm doing some of my best work here."

"Sorry."

Brendan puts his lips to his once again, but the sounds continue.

"Sorry!" Ste breathes in between his laughter. "It's just...we're engaged, Bren!"

"Well, not in the eyes of the law."

"I know, but..."

"I know what you mean," he says, and strokes down Ste's face, fondling his neck.

Suddenly, Ste doesn't feel like laughing anymore.

He pulls Brendan into a kiss that is breathless and sensual, their lips moving together in harmony, accustomed to each others likes and pleasures.

Ste reaches out a hand and boldly swipes his fingers against Brendan's cock through the material of his trousers. Brendan arches into the touch, and they are unzipped within a second, Brendan's boxer shorts already tented by Ste's actions.

Ste feels like he wants to capture this moment, and never let it stop. Contentment surrounds him like a protective bubble, and it's as though the jigsaw pieces have slotted into the right places. Amy is with someone she loves. His pride for his kids couldn't grow any more. Things are right between him and Doug.

And he has this now, here.

_Brendan. _

Brendan unpeels the layers of clothes off Ste like it is a form of body worship. He is delicate, but not teasingly or hesitantly so. Every movement is confident and firm, but protective, loving.

He strokes down Ste's body, encouraging him to settle on top of him in the bed.

Ste resumes his ministrations on Brendan's cock through his underwear, hard strokes that leave Brendan biting his lip.

"Let me..." Brendan takes his hand away, and lowers down his shorts, nodding at Ste to resume his movements.

Ste brings their foreheads together as he touches him. He loves it like this, when they're as close as it's possible to be, eye to eye level, reading every emotion and expression on Brendan's face.

It gives him an extreme sense of power and satisfaction, that he is affecting Brendan through the use of his own body, a body that he wasn't sure could ever please anyone, not after the things it had done, the ways it had hurt.

He runs his fingers over the head of Brendan's cock, eliciting a small moan from the older man. All nine inches are before him, and his own cock hardens when he feels the unmistakable wetness of pre cum.

Ste moves down in the bed, his tongue finding Brendan's chest and trailing down lazily. He feels Brendan's dark hair against it, and his masculinity only serves to spike his arousal.

When he reaches his cock, it's lying erect on Brendan's stomach. Ste rubs against it with his nose, and Brendan regards him with a kind of awe.

Ste licks along the bulging veins, and resists putting his mouth around it. This is half the fun. The anticipation, the wait for it, the delicious foreplay which makes the main event feel like a beautiful release.

There is also the knowledge that they have the whole night spread out before them, in which to explore and luxuriate over every inch of skin on display.

It reminds Ste of their first ever night together, when it seemed like everything would be alright if there was just the two of them. No distractions, no girlfriends getting in the way, real ones or otherwise. No violence or the interference of family members and friends who would drive Brendan back into the closet, and away from Ste.

They'd spent the whole afternoon and evening fucking each other, the first time for Ste.

Brendan had shown him a part of himself that he hadn't even been sure existed. When he'd first had thoughts of Callum while he'd been locked away, the idea of acting on them had been in his mind, but far removed from the reality of life in young offenders, and his life outside of it. It wasn't something that people like him did. Not when you've grown up on a council estate, and have a step dad who calls people like that _those fucking queers. _Not when you have a girl waiting for you at home, who you've built a connection with, and who sex with holds its own sort of pleasures.

With Brendan, there hadn't been a choice.

Fuck what Terry would think, or how everyone else would react.

He knew that where Brendan was concerned, he would always come back for more.

This isn't their first time, though. The bruises which covered Ste's body back then are gone, his golden skin smooth and clear.

He doesn't have to watch his own reactions or fear for Brendan's own.

He is a man who is gay and not ashamed of it, a man who knows what he wants, and seeks it out.

When he flips his body over so that they are top to toe, Brendan's cock before him, Ste's arse facing Brendan, he feels assured. He feels like this is something he can do. Something he deserves to do, without shame.

Brendan pulls Ste's body down ever so slightly, so that his arse is directly in front of his mouth. Ste knows what's to come, and it makes him feel lightheaded. He concentrates his attentions on Brendan's cock, taking it down to the root, a skill that he has mastered with patience and copious lessons from the man who taught him about who he is.

He begins to feel a tongue, softly probing. Hands are on his legs, and the hair there is being gently smoothed down. Ste knows that Brendan has a particular fondness for his legs. Any attempt by Ste to cover them up in the past has resulted in a loud tutting and an annoyed protestation.

"_Why would you hide them, Steven?"_

"_I don't know. They're so skinny. Awkward."_

"_Fuckable," he would say definitively. "Highly fuckable. Want me to show you just how much?"_

Brendan is a master at rimming. He has Ste wanting to buckle under the pressure of the little teasing lapping, his focus being taken away from Brendan's own throbbing cock.

Ste yells out a series of inaudible sounds. He gets like this is bed. Not always in control of his own reactions. Vocal to the point of deafening.

He has asked self consciously in the past if Brendan minds, only to be rewarded by a whisper in his ear, telling him he likes it. More than likes it.

Ste pushes back his arse against Brendan's mouth. He knows how to apply just the right amount of attention to get Ste thoroughly wet and begging for the main event, without applying the pressure too much so that he comes before they've got started.

Brendan breaks off, kissing the velvet globes of Ste's arse.

"Brendan."

Ste tries to grind back onto Brendan's lips, looking behind his shoulder to see why he's halted.

"Little attention please."

Brendan nods to his cock.

"Sorry," Ste huffs, wondering how Brendan can possibly expect him to keep a focused mind when he's doing that to him.

He takes his cock back into his mouth. It feels good, filling Ste's mouth with its girth. The taste is oddly comforting, familiar.

He alternates between long licks and sucking it, and his own dick feels like it's going to burst from the view of Brendan's cock disappearing down his throat, and a tongue being roughly coiled into his hole.

His entire body is being invaded, and he has never wanted it more.

There is a point where it gets too much, and he is sure he is going to come all over the bedsheets.

He is about to draw back and ask Brendan for some kind of release, _any_, when his searching tongue is replaced by a finger, exploring his wet, tight heat.

"Fuck."

Ste rests his head in between Brendan's spread eagled legs as he feels Brendan's slick digits stretching him.

He is merciless in his actions, because he knows Ste can take it, that he wants it like this.

Brendan marvels at the sight of Ste clawing the sheets. He can feel his rock hard cock against his stomach.

Seeing him like this is wonderful, a turn on in itself.

Brendan withdraws his finger, and holds it out to Ste.

"Want to taste yourself?"

He know how the boy gets when he's like this, horny beyond the point of return, his pupils overblown and dilated, stretching his own limits again and again.

There's very little they haven't done together now.

Ste cranes his neck to give himself better access, and Brendan extends his finger. Ste takes it into his mouth and Brendan reaches for his own cock while Ste sucks on his finger.

When he sucks it dry, he gazes at Brendan with a look akin to achievement.

"Good boy."

Brendan traces his spine, and then resumes his actions, this time adding another finger into Ste's entrance.

Ste twists and flexes, then adjusts, moving back and forth. It feels like Brendan's finger is reaching as far into him as it's possible to go, and it makes him eager for the real thing.

"Put it in me, Bren."

"Do you want to ride it?"

Ste relishes being on top, setting the pace, feeling Brendan's hips rotate upwards to meet his own movements.

But today he wants Brendan to take charge and be on top of him.

He wants to be thoroughly taken.

"No," Ste sighs, breathless in anticipation. "Lie on top of me."

Brendan lines himself up, and Ste spreads his legs as wide as they'll go, a non verbal invitation.

Brendan settles in between them, and guides his cock inside.

"Good day?" Brendan asks.

Brendan is not exactly one for pillow talk during or after sex, and Ste doesn't know whether to answer seriously or not.

"The best."

He feels like he can face anything if Brendan is by his side. Somehow problems seem smaller and less impossible if he has him.

They are a team, a unit. A family.

Brendan thrusts into him unhurriedly, like they have all the time in the world.

When Ste whispers those three words, Brendan no longer looks shocked or appalled by them. They seem to give him more strength than he already has.

"I love you too."

He buries himself further into Ste, and he is left with the certainty that he could live the rest of his life like this. Exactly like this.

_**Present Day - 2nd November 2014**_

He is scared that he won't be able to breathe.

The tape is secured around him tightly, and the rope rubs against his skin when he tries to shake free of it. He knows it's pointless, that he is only causing himself more discomfort by trying to escape.

But escape is essential, because the alternative is terrifying.

Ste watches as Theresa makes a similar struggle beside him.

He doesn't understand why she's here. But he knows that he saw her only the other day, which means that whatever this is - an abduction, a friendly exchange gone horribly wrong - it can't have been a long ordeal.

She looks frightened, but not injured as far as he can tell. Make up is smeared around her face, and her captivity looks as extreme as Ste's, but she is intact, unbruised.

He tries to communicate to her, something, anything, but it is difficult when he has only his eyes.

Walker's words ring in Ste's ears.

He loves him. He thinks that Brendan has raped him.

_He_ has been raped.

Every moment that they've spent together has now taken on a new edge.

The dance at Chez Chez. The meeting at this flat, where Walker was walking around in nothing but a towel.

He had tried to ignore it, to push it to the back of his mind.

It hadn't meant anything. He had seen Walker as a business partner of Brendan's, perhaps even a friend. He never posed the same threat as Warren or Danny.

Ste now realises that the threat is that much bigger. The lengths he will go to more personal.

He wonders if he should feel a semblance of anger towards Walker. He has got him here under false pretenses, making him believe that Brendan was in some kind of danger.

He has somehow involved Theresa in all of this, when she is an innocent party.

He holds a gun in his hand, and Ste doesn't doubt that he will use it.

Yet a part of him understands. He understands for himself, and he understands for Brendan.

He can't pretend to Walker that he knows what it's like to have been raped. But the pain etched on Walker's face is not unlike the same that marked his own years ago.

He wants to tell him what a mistake this would be. How hurting someone doesn't help. That he meant what he said to him. That people aren't always what they appear. That good vs bad doesn't exist.

But he can't say anything, and instead he listens to the low murmur of Walker's voice outside the door. He can't make out what he's saying, and his own phone is useless to him now. Even if Walker hadn't taken it, his hands could not even reach to call Brendan.

He feels helpless, defenseless.

He remembers when life had once seemed so bleak that he'd stood on scaffolding and wanted to jump down from it. Amy hadn't wanted him, his kids had been better off without him.

He'd wanted to end it all.

But he hadn't. A man, a priest, had talked to him. Convinced him that there was something worth sticking around for.

Now, he clings to life like it is precious. He doesn't want it to end like this, here, now.

He still has so many things to do.

He hears the sound of the door opening, and Walker coming back into the room. Ste can sense Theresa's terror from across the room.

"Your boys are on their way. Knights in shining armour, eh?"

Ste panics. Brendan, here? When Walker has a gun?

"So it's time that I got this show on the road."

He sounds like a man who is trying to be brave.

Ste has never had a gun aimed at him before. There is no running away from it.

"Goodbye, Ste."

He thinks of everything he loves, as if that will make this okay.

All the old, bad memories have been diluted by these last two years.

He has been a friend. He has been a father. A husband.

He closes his eyes, and waits for it to come. A bang, a white light. Even just black. A nothingness.

But he is still here. His heart is still beating.

Ste opens his eyes, and it's then that he sees it.

Walker hesitates.

_He hesitates. _


	10. Chapter 10 Brendan

_This is the last chapter of Revenge. Thanks so much for all your lovely reviews and for those of you who have followed this story. Your comments mean so much to me, and have been heartwarming to read. I hope you enjoy the last chapter!_

_**30th October, 2014**_

It takes him by surprise when the moment comes.

He had planned for something special. Perhaps not candles and dinner and soft music in the background, but his own kind of romance. Something that would make the boy's face light up, and cause his arms to wrap around Brendan's neck, his warm hold engulfing him.

Then they'd go to bed, and wouldn't arise till the early afternoon. Steven would make him breakfast, and they'd take it in turns feeding each other, before it would overtake them again, and they'd be back under the covers, the tastes of food combining with the tastes of each other.

There never seems to be the opportunity though. After Dodger and Amy's engagement, Steven makes several visits to the flat. Brendan wants to tell him that his kids will always be his, that Dodger can't take that his place. But he knows this is something he has to figure out on his own terms.

Things are busy at the club and the deli, and something stops him each time from producing the set of rings that lie hidden in a bag in the safe at the club. He feels faintly ridiculous for having them, and completely idiotic for hiding them.

Brendan remembers how different things were with Eileen. How he was eager in his wish to marry her, to have that big day with all their family and friends. How he felt a surge of pride when he saw her walking down the aisle in her dress, and felt a sense of finally belonging somewhere, of being someones _husband_. It was a clear message to the world. He was normal.

What he has never told anyone were the hours before the wedding, when he locked himself in his bathroom and puked his guts out, and carried on retching even when it felt like he had nothing more inside him. He had lent his head against the tiles afterwards, trying to cool his sweating face to no effect. He'd struggled to contain the way his body had shaken all over, telling himself that it was just wedding day nerves. That it happened to everyone.

There is no wedding venue with Steven. There are no flowers, or honeymoon, or bridesmaids, or vows, or the long walk to the alter.

He doesn't want to lock himself away. He doesn't want to be sick, or lie against the floor thinking that if he wakes up, maybe this will all be over.

That's why this has to be right. Why his eyes have continuously flickered over to where the rings are kept, waiting for...something. A sign, maybe. Telling him that he can do this, and that making Steven his own, forever, won't mean that he will lose him.

Steven has made him want to believe that sometimes good things can last.

The rings are plain. A gold band on Brendan's insistence. Solid, the kind of thing that will last for the rest of their lives.

Steven had requested for their initials to be carved.

"_BB and SH? Little cheesy don't you think, Steven?"_

"_Oi! I like it."_

"_You would..."_

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"_Soppy git, aren't you?"_

"_Are you saying no, then?"_

It had been virtually impossible to say no to Steven when he'd been giving him those eyes. The lightest shade of blue, and staring at him with a pleading expression, his forehead all crinkled.

Brendan regards the rings now, smoothing his fingers over the metal. He never really thought much about the circular shape before, but he gets it now. Infinite.

He quickly puts the rings back into the safe when he hears that familiar knock at the door.

Steven can always tell when he's lying, more than his own mother ever could.

He straightens his suit and makes sure that the safe is closed.

"Alright?"

The boy leans forward to kiss him, and Brendan can smell the freshly applied aftershave on him.

He has made an effort for this. He's wearing a new shirt that Brendan treated him to, and it clings to him beautifully, accentuating his toned body. He is no longer the skinny lad that Brendan first met at the club.

"You look good."

Steven's cheeks redden slightly at the words. Brendan can't understand how he doesn't realise how delicious he is, how he feels like he has to fight opponents off on a daily basis.

"Ta."

Brendan takes his hand and goes through into the club.

Only when he lets Steven go does he realise what he's done. It is an unconscious action. He wanted to do it. He wanted to take the boy's hand.

It is not like him. He doesn't do these gestures, these displays of public affection.

But Steven's hand was there, and warm, and inviting, and the world didn't come to an end when he took it.

Brendan pulls out a stool and motions for Steven to sit down.

He can barely take his eyes off him as he pours him a drink.

He imagines picking him up and laying him down on the bar this second. His body would settle on top of the boy's, and they'd both be naked before they knew it, clothes scattered on the floor.

Brendan reminds himself that he is in his place of work, that anyone could walk in, that Steven may be brazen, but he is not an exhibitionist.

He settles instead for stealing glances at him while he pours him a drink. He adds in a straw for good measure, just how he likes it.

Brendan pours himself a small glass of whiskey, and sits next to Steven.

He deliberately rubs his arm against his once, and doesn't miss the smile that appears on Steven's face. The boy bites his lip, as if he's worried that if he lets it show, he'll break the spell.

"How long have you got?"

Brendan check the clock. "Couple of hours before opening."

"You sure it's okay for me to be here like this? I'm not getting in the way, am I?"

The idea is ridiculous.

"You never get in the way."

Brendan leans forward and kisses Steven's ear, and nuzzles in close to his hair. It's incredibly soft, like it always is.

Steven puts a hand on Brendan's leg, and slowly drags it upwards.

It disarms him. He blinks, and Steven looks unsure. Brendan can already feel him withdrawing his hand.

He makes the decision quickly.

He places a hand on Steven's where it's placed on his thigh, and smooths down the skin there.

Letting him know it's okay.

He picks up his drink like nothings happened.

"How was work?"

Ste shrugs. "It was alright. Joel came in."

Brendan tenses. "He didn't do anything, did he?"

Ste rolls his eyes. Somehow it makes his eyelashes look even more pronounced.

"No, course not! You need to stop worrying about that."

As though it is that simple. As though the memory of Steven's bruised face has left him.

"It was months ago, Bren."

"Well, as long as he plays nice..."

Steven has buried it a lot faster than Brendan has. Things have operated on a purely professional level with Joel ever since that day. Every time Brendan has gone back to the flat to visit Cheryl, Joel has always been vacant at the family dinners. Conversation at the club is stilted, a matter of pleasantries and cold exchanges.

"And Douglas? How is he?"

Again, the eye roll.

"You mean has he found a boyfriend yet?"

Brendan grunts.

"I don't know! We don't really talk about that stuff much."

Brendan knows that asking this is like a form of self punishment. He doesn't want to know about Douglas. He particularly doesn't want to know about Steven and Douglas.

But if he finds out that Douglas has moved on to someone else...

"Maybe you should set up one of those internet dating profiles for him."

"Been there, done that. Just leave it Bren. Doug will find someone when he wants to. Anyway, this is about you and me, isn't it? This is supposed to be a -"

"Don't say the word."

"Date," Steven finishes gleefully.

Brendan polishes off his whiskey.

"It sounds so..."

"Perfect, I know," Steven says confidently.

He looks around the club.

"Where's Cheryl today?"

"She took the day off."

"Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just..." he falters.

Ste looks at him. "What?"

He only found out himself yesterday. He hasn't told anyone, because the words sound too difficult to form even in his head.

"Browning's appealed against his sentence."

Steven takes his hand off Brendan's thigh.

"He can't do that. He's only served two years!"

"Don't worry, he's not going to win. There's no way. It just...it brought up a lot of...you know, for Cheryl."

He could go back into prison and murder Browning himself for what he's done. It had taken Cheryl these two years just to come to terms with Lynsey's death.

"It's not just for Cheryl though, is it?"

Steven's voice is quiet and oddly soothing. He knows what to do in these situations, perhaps even more than he's aware of. Brendan wonders if it's because of what happened to Rae, or whether the boy was just born like this. Knowing the exact words to say, that will make everything just that little much better.

He moves the stool closer to Brendan, and kisses his neck, the lightest hint of stubble brushing against Brendan's skin.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Steven."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah."

"I'd never seen you like that before. When Lynsey died. I don't know how you got through it."

"I don't think I would have if it hadn't been for you."

Steven looks surprised. "Me?"

"Remember when you held me in the street? When she was pronounced dead. You saved me."

He smiles, and it's beautiful.

"I just wanted to...I don't know...stop it all. Make it all go away for you. I guess that's what you do, when you love someone."

Brendan stares at him, in all his vulnerability and braveness and strength and brilliance.

"Wait here, Steven."

Somehow this feels like the moment. A right time, if there ever is one.

He collects the bag out of the safe, and carries it over to the bar.

"What's that?" He sounds excited, like a part of him knows what's coming.

Brendan takes hold of Steven's left hand, and slides the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly, the result of them going together to get Steven's hand measurements after Amy's engagement party.

Steven wiggles his fingers slightly, staring at the ring with a look of awe.

"Does it have -"

"The initials that you wanted? Yes."

Brendan reaches out to get his own ring, but Steven stops him.

"Let me."

He moves forward to place the ring on Brendan's hand.

"Wait."

Brendan takes his cross necklace where it's tucked underneath his shirt, and finds the closing.

"Put it on here instead."

It feels right to him to have the ring lie there. The gold and the silver clash, but it doesn't matter. He wants the ring to be next to the only piece of jewellery that he owns. Something which he has owned for most of his life, and carries with him everyone.

Brendan turns so Steven can loop the ring on the chain of the necklace. His fingers delicately brush against Brendan's neck, and he can see the goosebumps rise on the fine hairs that lie there.

Steven stands back to regard the sight before him. The ring has settled next to the cross, and somehow it looks like it was always meant to be there. On Brendan's chest, next to his heart.

His own ring feels strange against his finger, but he smiles at the look of it. He knows one day it'll fit snuggly on his hand, so much so that he won't even notice its presence. It will just have become a part of him.

"I love you."

It is a cliche in these situations to say that, isn't it? But there really are no other words in the world that could do it justice.

Brendan drinks it all in.

_Steven loves me._

With him by his side, life feels less terrifying. Browning. Douglas. Being out. A hand on his thigh in a place where they can be seen. The fact that he took Steven's hand, and he wanted to.

It all seems, if not comfortable, then okay.

This is what growing up must feel like.

Being free.

_**Present Day - 2nd November, 2014**_

He is not really here.

He is floating, and someone else is doing all of this.

Someone else is gathering the gun that he has kept at the flat. The gun that he has never revealed to Steven, because they don't do that anymore. They don't keep secrets. He hadn't wanted the boy to worry. That wasn't the kind of life Steven wanted - guns and drugs and secret meetings at two am in a dark alleyway.

Brendan knew that if he explained that he owned it to keep him safe, that it was for their own protection, he would tell him to get rid of it. That they had no need for things like that. That they had escaped that world long ago, where there were a whole host of people with grudges against Brendan.

Steven is naive, and his naivety is wonderful. But Brendan knows that as long as he is alive, there will be someone out there who he will have hurt, or wronged in some way. That that person will seek him out, and find out who he loves.

One look at the way he is around Steven will let them know that he is his weak spot. His achilles heel. Everything he's ever wanted in one human form.

The image of the boy is driving him to distraction, and he leans against the sofa for a moment, struggling for breath.

_He's dead. _

Those had been Joel's words, hadn't they?

His mind hadn't been able to accept it. Someone can't just go from being a live person, someone with thoughts and feelings and quirks and annoyances, to someone who ceases to be. Like a light going out.

But he'd seen it, hadn't he? With Lynsey.

Her eyes had been open, a single mascara stained tear dripping down her cheek.

Strangled.

No pulse. No breath.

He'd carried her through the village, sure that she'd be okay. That if someone just tried hard enough, she'd open her eyes, and tell everyone off for thinking that there was ever cause to worry at all.

She was his sister. Just as dear in so many ways as Cheryl. He'd went to prison for her, and he'd have done it all again if he'd had to. Despite the bruises, despite the nightmares that had plagued him in his cell, despite being without Declan and Paddy, despite months spent apart from Steven, thinking he hated him, he'd do it all again.

That's what family was.

But Steven isn't Lynsey.

He is as much a part of Brendan as his own hammering heart beat.

There are reminders of him everywhere in the flat as Brendan rushes from room to room, frantic and unsure of what he's looking for, Joel talking in the background, as if he is a million miles away, located across a fog.

He primed Joel for information when he found out the news. One question above all others.

Who did this.

Because it had to be someone. This was the day that Brendan had always been terrified would come, the day when someone took Steven away from him.

Once he found out, he didn't need to know anything else. He locates the gun, loads it, and tears out of the flat, not caring to see whether he's even locked the door behind him.

Nothing matters anymore.

He can hear Joel calling his name behind him, and trying to run after him, but it only makes him run faster. He doesn't want to speak to anyone, or be deterred in any way. He knows what he has to do.

He passes at least a dozen people on the way to Walker's flat, but he makes no effort to conceal the gun.

He fights to keep the images of Cheryl and his kids out of his mind. He can't think about them, because they are reasons to live, and he can't live. There is no way he is getting out of this alive.

The moment Joel had told him, time had stood still. There was the invisible line between what his life had been like before, and what it was going to be like now.

Before there had been _him._ Brendan doesn't allow himself to think of his name. He has to keep running.

They had had a life together. A place of their own. The kind of commitment that Brendan had never thought he'd achieve. They'd planned to go on holiday together. _He_ had text him only days before.

He'd started looking at places on the internet. A place which was busy enough for the kids to enjoy, but private enough so they could lie on sun loungers all day without being interrupted by prying busybodies.

Now there is nothing.

Brendan's legs seem to remember Walker's address of their own accord. He has only been there a handful of times. It's the kind of place that he'd have imagined for Simon. Classy. Expensive. Strangely joyless.

Mainly he's kept away, because there was something amiss lately. Something which he'd recognised, but had perceived as little danger. Not even an obstacle. Walker, loving..._him_.

Brendan had trusted that it was something in his own mind, or something that would go away, that was harmless.

He should have known that there were others alive who found _him_ as precious as Brendan had.

Is this what this is? Has he...has he killed him because he knew he would never have him? That the ring on _his_ finger told that fact to the world?

Brendan's phone rings in his pocket. He remembers checking it only minutes before, wanting to call Steven to see why he was late.

He can't look at it, because the person on the other line will try to stop him. They will not be Steven, and no one else will ever be enough.

When Brendan reaches Walker's flat, he lets out a sigh that feels like relief.

He is nearly at the end now.

* * *

The door is easy enough to kick down. Usually it would take him more than two attempts, but today something is different. He has a strength in him that he never knew he possessed.

The neighbours must hear the noise. This is a nice area, not the kind that is disturbed my gun shots and break ins.

He is prepared to shoot if someone gets in his way. An innocent casualty means nothing to him now. Soon he will be dead, and their deaths will cease to matter to him.

Brendan wants to scream out Walker's name, but something has happened to his vocal chords. He settles for firing a gun shot into the ceiling.

When he hears nothing, he thinks that he may be too late. That Walker's already left the flat, and could be on his way to the airport right now, or the train station, or anywhere that Brendan is not able to find.

But then he hears soft steps coming towards him from a side room, and the man is standing in front of him, as plain as day.

He looks terrible. Brendan manages to register that through his own haze.

His skin is paler than usual, and he has dark shadows under his eyes, like he hasn't slept in days.

Brendan doesn't know what he expected, but it wasn't this.

He imagines his enemies victorious in battle. Warren and Danny never let their weaknesses show, no matter how much Brendan managed to outmaneuver them. They were confident of their own abilities to the end.

Walker looks broken. A mirror image of how Brendan feels.

It disarms him, but only momentarily. There is only one reason he's here, and he clings onto that.

"I knew you would come," Walker says, without a hint of satisfaction.

"Where is he? Where is Steven?" It hurts to say that name.

Brendan doesn't know why he's asking. That was not part of the plan. He can't bear to see the wounds on Steven's body if it was a slow, painful death. He can't bear to see the perfection of him even when all the life has been drained from him if it was a quick demise.

But he has never not wanted to see the boy.

Even when he tried to block him out in prison, he couldn't. Even when he punched Steven after he found out Declan had stayed with him, he still wanted him in his life. He always knew that he would come back for more, because despite all the chaos, the simple fact was that he was in love with him.

Even in death, Brendan still wants to see him. To cradle him in his arms, and try to kiss the life back into him, even though he already knows he will fail.

He wants to tell him that he will never be alone, that Brendan will join him in wherever he's going, and they'll go there together.

"Where is he?" He repeats.

Walker is silent.

Brendan points the gun at him, and repeats the words in a scream.

Walker looks entirely unafraid. Like he's been waiting for the moment. Almost like he's embracing it with open arms.

Brendan's mind overspills with questions. This was meant to be mechanical, fast. Kill Walker. Kill himself. See Steven again.

But now he is here, he needs answers for what he can't understand.

"Why him? Why not me?"

Walker blinks once, his face otherwise like a perfectly sculptured statue.

"His pain had to stop."

Brendan shakes his head to try and make sense of this.

"His pain?"

"I had to do this, Brendan. It had to be this way."

Brendan moves forward, continuing to point the gun at him, willing Walker to give him an answer that means something, that explains all this.

He has forgotten that there is anyone who exists apart from both of them in this room. There is no door left intact to knock on now, and the footsteps that move towards him don't register in his mind, which only has room for one thing.

"Where's Theresa?"

Joel must have followed him here, called a taxi so it was quicker.

Brendan wants to force him out of the room, to tell him that this is not his fight. But Joel's words make him falter.

"Theresa?"

"He's got her, Brendan. He's got her too."

Brendan wonders whether Joel tried to tell him this before, while he was rushing around the flat. He tries to recall it, but realises that it's impossible. He couldn't hear anything after he got the news. His whole energy was concentrated on finding Walker as quickly as possible.

"Where is she?" Joel demands, mimicking Brendan's earlier shout.

The plan is messy now. He knows Joel will try and stop him from turning the gun on himself.

"Get out of here, Joel."

"No. I need to find her. Is she still alive?"

Joel runs towards Walker, and Brendan fires another shot.

It misses Walker by inches, and hits the wall behind them. Brendan doesn't know whether Walker is carrying a gun himself, or a knife, but Walker is damned if he thinks that he's going to stand by and watch while he kills another person Brendan cares about.

He watches as Joel makes a grab for Walker's throat, shouting at him to tell him where Theresa is.

Brendan goes to help him, but he knows he only has a limited time left.

He searches the rooms, looking for any sign of Steven. A bloodstain. Clothing. His phone left discarded in a corner somewhere.

He finds nothing, and when he reaches the last room, he discovers it's locked.

He tries to kick it down, but something has gone from him. Strength. Every moment that he lives, Steven's death hits him more with its devastation. It takes everything he has to throw his body weight against the door and bring it off its hinges.

When it is kicked through, it takes an even larger amount of strength to look at what awaits him. He is not ready to face the pain that Steven suffered.

What he sees is a strange mixture between heaven and hell.

Steven is bound and gagged. Layers of tape cover his mouth, and it looks like he's struggling to breathe. His hands and feet are tied together by rope, and it has left red imprints against his skin where it's rubbed.

But he's alive.

Brendan wants to lie down and cry, but he's scared that if tears cover his eyes, he won't be able to see the boy before him.

It's then that he hears a shuffling noise, and sees that Steven's not alone in the room. Theresa sits on the opposite corner of the bed, desperately trying to break free of her own restraints.

"Joel, she's here."

He'd almost forgotten the commotion outside the room. That the man who did this is still out there.

He takes in the sounds of their struggling now, and looks over his shoulder just long enough to make sure that Joel still has the upper hand. Grief has made him strong.

"Get her out of here," Joel commands.

"You take her. I'm not leaving Steven."

"Brendan -"

"Just go, Joel. I'll make sure Walker stays."

Joel wrestles himself free of Walker, and Brendan immediately trains his gun on him again while he remains on the ground, painting and covered in the imprint of Joel's hands around his neck.

Joel hurriedly moves into the bedroom, and Brendan hears him let out a strangled cry when he sees Theresa.

"Go, now," Brendan tells him, because he knows what it's like, seeing something like that.

It's the kind of thing that you could watch forever, just to check if something so awful can exist.

Joel carries Theresa out of the flat, and Brendan looks her over quickly to see what kind of damage has been done.

She looks frightened beyond belief, but intact. Not even in need of a trip to the hospital.

Brendan's eyes roam back towards Walker. He makes no attempt to get off the floor.

"So what was the plan, Walker?"

He moves closer to him, but still far enough away so he has the upper hand, and can guard the bedroom where Steven is.

He thinks how terrified the boy must be. His eyes were wide when they looked into Brendan's own. But he didn't look scared for himself, Brendan realises. He looked scared about what Brendan was doing there.

_He was scared for him._

"Were you going to make me think that Steven was dead, and then let me come here for you to kill me?"

"No," Walker croaks, his voice sounding constricted.

Brendan knows that Joel would have killed him too, if he hadn't stopped him. For her.

But he wants to be the one to do it.

"Then what were you going to do?"

"I wanted to kill him. I needed to kill him. But I couldn't."

Brendan is shocked by his honesty. He expected more lies, like the lies Walker has been feeding him ever since he met him three years ago.

"Why? Why couldn't you?"

"Because I love him."

Brendan almost drops the gun he's holding, but tightens his grip around it at the last second.

He knew it was coming, didn't he?

But nothing could have prepared him for this.

"He doesn't love you, Walker. He loves me."

It is the first time he has ever said this. The words ring out loud and true. Despite all he has done to Steven, despite the past and every time he hurt him, he forgave him. He loves him.

His words seem to cause Walker near physical pain. He clutches his own throat, like he wishes he could strangle himself. Brendan sees Walker eye the gun in his hand like it is a welcome relief rather than a dangerous threat.

He wants to die. Perhaps this was the plan all along.

Maybe denying Walker this would be a worse form of suffering than death could bring. But Brendan's eyes travel back to Steven's, still wide and afraid, his form gagged, and he thinks about what he must have gone through in the hours since Walker took him. The uncertainty, and the fear, and not knowing whether he would survive at all.

Brendan can't let Walker live.

Brendan pulls back the trigger, and prepares to fire.

He hears Steven fighting for speech underneath the tape that conceals his mouth.

Brendan tries to concentrate and aim at Walker.

But the sound of Steven trying to speak to him makes him falter. He is frantically struggling agains the tape, and fruitlessly trying to move forward on the carpet.

Brendan hurriedly moves forward and removes the tape as gently as possible from around Steven's face. He keeps an eye at the door at all times, making sure that Walker doesn't move, although Brendan is not entirely sure that he even wants to.

Steven gasps for breath. His mouth is red and raw from the tape, and it takes some moments before he can form coherent sentences.

"Don't do it, Brendan. Don't kill him."

They are not the words he wants to hear. He doesn't want to be stopped or deterred in what he has set out to do. Steven being alive hasn't changed one half of his plan.

"I have to." He moves back towards the door.

"No, you don't."

"Let go of me, Steven." He tries to shake the boy's arm off him, but is once again surprised by the firm hold of him.

It's as though he's been keeping all his energy inside, waiting for this moment.

"No! Listen to me, you're not going to do this. You can't."

"He was going to kill you!"

"But he didn't."

Brendan hears himself laughing at the sheer idiotic nature of this argument.

"If you do this, then there's no going back, is there?"

"Exactly."

Brendan tries to get to his feet once more, to do this before Steven changes his mind, like he's changed his entire life.

Again, that hand on his arm, keeping him there.

"How long do you reckon you'll be able to keep coming back from this? First Danny, now Walker? They're going to find out, Brendan. You'll be put in prison, and we won't be together anymore. What then?"

Brendan shrugs this off. "Then we'll deal with it."

But there is that small nagging moment of doubt in his mind.

_We won't be together anymore._

"This isn't just about prison. What about you? What will this do to you? You pretend you're strong and that nothing touches you, but it does. You're not a murderer, Brendan."

"Yes I am." He can't deny that.

"No, you're not. You're not someone who kills in cold blood and doesn't give a fuck. You care."

The opportunity is slipping away. He can feel it. Every moment that he is in this bedroom talking to Steven is every moment that Walker is still alive. He can't let that happen.

"Steven, please."

"I'll make the decision for you. Just stay with me."

Brendan looks from Steven to the hallway, the weight of the loaded gun still in his hands.

He looks, and he looks back again.

_**3rd November, 2014**_

He can smell bacon. It is close to him, right under his nose. It doesn't smell like the bacon that he cooks, which is always too burnt, no matter how carefully he tries to follow the packet instructions.

Cooking isn't his forte. He's been useless at it since he was a kid, and even with Steven's help, an Irish stew that he tried to make for Cheryl as a peace offering years ago ended up being a disaster, most of which ended up in the bottom of the bin.

No, this smells entirely different. It smells like Steven's cooking.

But he knows that's impossible, because Steven's dead.

And so is he.

Brendan opens his eyes, not knowing what he expects to see, but the sight that greets him is the most unexpected of all.

He is lying in his bed, at home.

A tray has been placed in front of him. Bacon like he guessed, and eggs, sausages, tomatoes, toast. The full works.

Most surprising of all is the sight of the person holding it out to him.

His hair is ruffled with sleep, and too much lies on one side. His skin is golden and smooth, and Brendan can believe that it would taste of honey if he ran his tongue across it.

His is uncovered by blemishes or bruises, but his lips have that bee stung, full appearance, like they have been captured by someone who knows how to kiss.

He is wearing pajamas that are a few sizes too big, like most of his clothes tend to be. That skinny frame has always been difficult to fill clothes.

Shorts cover his modesty, but his legs are on show, and the hair there is dense and as dark as the hair on Brendan's chest.

Brendan reaches out, careful not to spill the tray, and strokes them. As much to make sure that he's real as to feel the hair under his fingertips.

He expects Steven to disappear the moment he touches him, but he remains sat in the bed beside him, as real as he's ever been.

He smiles in a kind of wonderment that Brendan is there too.

"Lets forget about breakfast for now."

Brendan never imagined saying those words, but suddenly he doesn't feel hungry anymore. Not right now, at least. There are more important things.

Steven puts the carefully prepared tray on the side table, and climbs into bed. He settles in his favourite spot, in the crook of Brendan's arm.

"Steven."

"Mmm?"

The boy sounds wiped out, but content.

"We're not dead, are we?"

He hears him laugh, that loud laugh of his. Like he imagines a donkey would.

"No, we're not dead."

"Walker..."

"The police arrested him. You stayed with me until they came, remember? You were the one who called them."

Brendan tries to remember, frowning in concentration.

"Don't worry. You were pretty out of it. Maybe it'll come back to you in bits."

"Maybe." He is not sure if he wants to remember at all.

"Joel..."

"He's with Theresa."

"She wasn't hurt, was she?"

"No, she's okay. Well...shaken up, obviously. She was in his flat for longer than me."

The image then, of Steven bound and gagged, comes flooding back to him.

"Fuck, are you -"

Brendan tries to sit up in bed.

"Shhhh," Steven whispers, laying small kisses on his chest.

"But Steven -"

"I'm okay, Bren. I promise you. I'm going to be okay. Remember, we talked about this last night? He didn't hurt me."

He recalls them staying up till the early hours of the morning, Brendan holding him while Steven's words spilled out of him in strangled, rushed sentences.

Walker's message to Ste about Brendan being in trouble. Walker's father. The gun. Being tied to the bed.

He also remembers asking Steven the question that had been plaguing him.

"He didn't...you know...he didn't touch you?"

Steven had reassured him that he hadn't even tried.

"I don't think...I don't think he even thought about making me do that. I'm not sure he even meant that he loved me, Bren. I think he was just lost, and...sad."

Brendan's shakes the words from his memory. He doesn't want to think about Walker.

Less than twenty four hours ago, he thought the person he loves most in the world was taken from him.

He had wanted to kill himself, because life without Steven was the blackest thing imaginable.

Brendan pulls Steven closer to him, as close as he can possibly be. Reaching forward for Steven's hand, he grasps it, feeling the warmth and the aliveness of it.

He places his lips over the gold ring that lies on Steven's finger, and kisses it.


End file.
